


All That You Can't Leave Behind

by Thirdeyeblinkings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 90s, America, Angst, Boys In Love, Coming of Age, Drama, Drarry, EWE, Enemies to Friends, Falling In Love, Fluff, Foster Care, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, High School Angst, Homophobia, Love Triangle, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Pining, Pining Draco is the Best Draco, Plotty, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Secret Crush, Shakespeare, Slash, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Teen Angst, Teenagers, Theatre, True Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, break ups, draco saves harry, longing glances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-04-23 08:37:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 50,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14328690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thirdeyeblinkings/pseuds/Thirdeyeblinkings
Summary: Harry lets everyone believe he died in the war and goes to live as a muggle teenager in a America (I know, but hear me out).Draco is sent by McGonnagal to bring him back to the wizarding world (and his senses).Basically a self indulgent high school drama fest and I ain't sorry.First fic ever, unbetaed, read at your own cringing risk.Also it's not done. I'll get back to it one day I swear.





	1. The World It Doesn't Fit With You

Harry sucked in his breath and pushed through a crowd of teenagers to open the cloudy glass doors, rucksack slung over his shoulder.

It was an altogether uninspiring piece of architecture on a depressing slab of pavement. Lots of grey, lots of rectangles, lots of cigarette butts and zero magic.

Once inside, he scanned the hallways for something or someone familiar, but reminded himself he didn't want to find anything. This was what he had asked for: a life without magic and a chance to start over.

***

" _Professor?"_

_"Yes, Harry?"_

_"If I really don't have to go back . . . if they'll be all right . . ."_

_"You don't. And they will. Voldemort cannot survive this."_

_Harry searched the old man's face. "Then I don't want to go back. I don't think I can." He braced himself for what might come next. But if Dumbledore was disappointed, he hid it well. He paused for only a heartbeat._

_"I understand, dear boy."_

_Harry's shoulders sagged with relief.  He wasn't sure he understood it himself. He just knew that he didn't belong there anymore. His best friends in the world were there, but they would want to move on after this. They deserved to move on. And whether or not they would admit it, his presence would make it harder. Ron and Hermione didn't need him; they had each other. Ginny deserved someone who wasn't so damaged, and someone who loved her deeply and without complication. Harry knew he didn't have it in him. They all needed to grieve, let go, and live. Without him._

_But._

_"But, er, Professor?"_

_Dumbledore raised his eyebrows._

_"I don't want to go . . . on . . . either." So there it was. He must truly be a coward to want to avoid both living and dying. It sounded so ridiculous, but something in Dumbledore's eyes as he stared down the tracks told him that there may be another option--if he only knew what to ask for._

***

Harry straightened his glasses and brushed back his hair (as much as he ever could). His hand stopped abruptly over his eyes, still not accustomed to the feeling of smooth unblemished skin there. It was an illusion Dumbledore had granted him, the erasure of his scar. It was still there somewhere, but hidden, along with its story. For what felt like the first time in his life, no one was was staring at him. In fact, everyone walked past him, almost into him, like he was part of the scenery. Loneliness hit him like a punch to the gut. Seven years of owning an invisibility cloak, and he'd never felt so invisible as he did now, standing adrift in this sea of strangers.

Muggle schools weren't completely foreign to him of course. They were all he knew for the first eleven years of his life. He had been lonely then too, but knowing one face, even one as terrifying as Dudley's, had been a tiny comfort, he now realized. Negative attention was better than nothing. Anything was better than this. _This is what I wanted. This is what I wanted,_ He repeated to himself, fighting the urge to panic. _I'll make friends eventually. Unless . . ._

Unless it really was his name that had given him such loyal friends in that other life. Unless it really was just pity. Or distant admiration. Or popularity-by-association. Gods above, who was he if he wasn't The Boy Who Lived?

***

_Dumbledore was still staring down the tracks as they sat in silence, and Harry took it as a sign that he had to keep talking._

_"What if--" he began, looking at his bloody, battle scarred hands. What if what? "It's just that, er, all I've ever really wanted . . ." He trailed off._

_"Is a . . . how do they put it? A 'normal' life?" Dumbledore finished for him, an indiscernible smile on his face._

_Harry looked up in surprise. "Yes. I know how stupid it sounds. I know how lucky I--"_

_"Nonsense. It does not sound foolish at all Harry. That is the life I wished I could have given you." The old man closed his eyes for a moment, his head heavy on his frail shoulders. "That is the life I fear I stole from you."_

_"No! It was Volde--"_

_"I am as guilty as any, Harry," he said kindly, "but thank you for your reassurance. You've faced more than anyone should have to, and sacrificed so much." Harry shook his head. "Which is why," Dumbledore said as he put a hand on Harry's shoulder, "you have an opportunity that would be out of reach for most in your position. Tell me, Harry, what does a 'normal life' look like to you?"_

_Harry wasn't expecting that question. But there must be some sort of ideal he had always wished for. He thought of his earliest yearnings as a child. A family who loved him. Friends who looked out for him. Outings to the zoo or the park or the ice cream shop that didn't end in disaster. A home. Simplicity. And this was long before magic had been a part of his life at all. Perhaps a truly simple and happy life was one without magic?_

_Muggles seemed just as happy as wizarding folk. Maybe happier. And what would he need magic for now? The war was over. Voldemort was dead . . . Harry shuddered as he looked over his shoulder at that miserable wretch of a thing on the ground. Voldermort was as good as dead anyway. And his followers would be rounded up in due time. Any of the more useful everyday spells he was rubbish at anyway. Hermione had done most of those for him. He could survive just fine repairing his own glasses and making his own tea. Couldn't he?_

_"Is that what it would be then, Harry? I warn you, you must be sure." Dumbledore must have read his thoughts. Even here in this strange eternal waiting room the Headmaster seemed to do what he pleased. But Harry was grateful not to have to say the words out loud. He knew they would sound like a betrayal to everything he had grown to love, just as he knew they were absolutely true._

***

"You look worse than the freshman I just about tripped over. You new here?" A girl stood before him, a smirk on her painted purple lips. For a split second Harry thought Tonks had somehow followed him here, but he knew better. Tonks was dead. And while this muggle girl did sport a black leather jacket and bright pink hair, she was much closer to his own age, and her accent was as American as the rest of the voices he heard surrounding them.

"I, er, the fresh what?" he stammered.

"Oh my _god_ you're adorabe!" she practically sang. "Are you from England? How very posh!" She lifted her pinky in the air. Harry blinked.

Before he could make sense of what she said, Pink Hair was joined by a tall boy with rich brown skin, buzzed black hair and dark blue eyes. He was swinging a canvas tote bursting at the seams with books, and wearing pair of glasses much more fashionable Harry's tired frames.

"Jo! I knew I'd find you harrassing a new kid." He embraced her and gave Harry a once over. "Hey man, I'm Felix. I'm sorry you had to hear Jo's godawful British accent. That's what that was right? Or did someone's dog die?" he quipped, playfully scuffing her doc martens.

"Fuck off," she laughed, and looked back at Harry. "I'm Jo. Felix is my sidekick."

Felix just shook his head. "It's so sad how she follows me around," he said to Harry in a stage whisper. Harry smiled to himself. Even though he was the outsider here, it was good to see a genuine friendship playing out in front of him. These two must have a lot of history. He missed that easy familiarity, but chased his own memories to the back of his mind.

"I'm Harry. Pleased to meet you," he said too loud, and immediately blushed at how foreign and formal he sounded. At least he hadn't held out his hand like a complete fool.

"Oh HAH-ry" Jo crooned. "I'm sorry but I just can't get over it! Felix, look how cute he is!"

"Please," Felix moaned, "Get over it. So you are from England, then? I have family in Wales actually."

"Yeah. Yeah I'm from England. Just moved here. Y'know, getting used to things . . ." he trailed off.

"Cool. Are you a senior?" Harry paused at the question, trying to remember American secondary school distinctions. Felix must have sensed Jo about to pounce on Harry's uncertainty so he followed up quickly, "Is this the year you graduate?"

Harry nodded gratefully. "Yeah, That's what they tell me."

Felix shook his head. "That's rough! I mean, not the graduating part, but having to do your last year at a new school--in a new country for fuck's sake! That sucks, man."

"Well, I was looking for a change anyway I spose," Harry said, not knowing how else to respond.

Jo nodded knowingly. "Dickheads at your old school? I bet a nice guy like you would be eaten alive in a big school in London or whatever."

Harry shrugged. "Something like that."

Dickheads, deatheaters. Not much of a difference.


	2. When You Come Swimming Into View

  
***  
" _Of course, it wouldn't be everything you've imagined," Dumbledore said warily._

_"I know." Harry had expected this. "I wouldn't have my parents."_

_"No. But you would have people to look after you, care for you."_

_"Adoptive parents?"_

_"Not quite. A boy your age is difficult to place in a permanent muggle home. But there are those who open their homes to temporary wards. And sometimes they do grow to love those children and adopt them."_

_"Foster parents."_

_Harry had heard a few things about "the system" in America. Some horror stories, but some happy endings too. He remembered a Ravenclaw boy who had been adopted by his foster parents. And this even after they'd found out he was a wizard. At any rate, it couldn't be much worse than living with the Dursleys._

_"And you're sure it's America? Where you'd like to have this simple life free of magic?" Concern briefly swept over Dumbledore's features._

_Harry frowned. Of course he wasn't sure. But it seemed like the best option. He couldn't risk being recognized in Britain. And he wouldn't be strong enough to stay away from those he loved if he knew they were close by. No, he needed something far away, with as little to remind him of this life as possible._

_"Yes, professor."_

_"Very well."_

***

"So where you headed?" Jo snatched his crumpled schedule out of his hands. "Oh, you've got English Lit with Faber, you lucky son of a bitch!" The turn of phrase caught him off guard, but he knew she meant nothing by it.

"That's good then?" He ventured.

Felix rolled his eyes. "Jo's just hot for him. He is a pretty good teacher though." Harry got the impression Felix was trying a little too hard to make it seem as though he had no opinion on this teacher's appearance.

"Good teacher my ass. Fabe the Babe is hot as hell and you know it!"

"Sure, if you have a thing for tweed suits," said Felix. "Anyway, I'm in that class too. I hear we're studying 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' this year."

"Sounds about right," Jo sighed.

"God, go take a cold shower,"

"Sure. Wanna join me?"

"You wish. Come on Harry, I'll walk you." Felix cocked his head down the hallway and Jo disappeared into the crowd.

"She's . . . fun." Harry offered.

"Jo? Yeah she's pretty great. We've known each other forever."

"Yeah? Did you ever--" Harry stopped himself from asking such a personal question, but Felix caught on and didn't seem to mind.

"We fooled around a bit, y'know, when we were just figuring things out. Just typical stuff. But she's not really my type. And we just know too much about each other. It's weird. I'll kill anyone who hurts her though. She'd do the same for me."

Harry wondered just what "typical stuff" meant, what needed to be "figured out," who Felix's type was, and why was he so curious?

"You dating anyone?" Felix asked casually. "Or did you date anyone at your old school?"

"I had a girlfriend, yeah."

"Had?"

"Yeah, she was, erm, she was great but it didn't work out."

"Long distance huh? Killer."

Harry barely held back a laugh. Long distance. That was an understatement.

"It was over before I left. But I may have . . . forgotten to tell her," he said sheepishly.

"What!" Felix feigned shock and a smile played on his lips. "That's cold man. Heart Breaker Harry. Watch out ladies!"  Harry wanted to share the joke. But the truth was that when he thought about what he must have done to Ginny's heart, he felt sick to his stomach. Ginny . . . He had loved her, in some sort of noble, imperfect, and incomplete way. And she deserved so much better. The guilt would shatter him if he let it.

Felix was looking at him with genuine concern. "You okay? You can tell me to fuck off and mind my own business you know. Jo does it all the time."

"It's fine. M'alright," said Harry, managing a small smile.

"Well here we are," said Felix as he gestured through the doorway of classroom 109. "After you."

 _I will never get used to this,_ thought Harry. When it came to ambiance, this classroom was on the negative scale. Bright fluorescent lighting, something sticky under his shoe, a nauseating smell of sterile cleaning solution and body odour. Even Snape's potions room had more charm. Harry winced when he thought of the man, now dead, whom he had hated so much.

Felix slid down into one of the seats in the front row, not where Harry would have pegged him, but Harry followed suit. Mr. Faber wasn't far behind. He came to the front of the room just as the bell rang. And Harry had to admit, the man was easy on the eyes. Fit, mid forties maybe, just a few streaks of grey in his caramel coloured hair, and somehow the tweed suit did do his physique a few favours. A sidelong glance at Felix told Harry he wasn't the only one giving Faber the up and down.

"Good morning," said Faber with warmth and confidence. The chattering around Harry petered out as Faber waited expectantly for the class's full attention. "And welcome back. I trust you each of you had a good summer and that you are ready to give it your best during your final year. This is Advanced English Lit. If you are here, it's because you want to be and you know what is expected of you." Harry gulped. "We will be studying three works in depth: a Shakespeare play, your choice from a list of pre-approved novels, and a collection of poetry. There will also be some time spent on short fiction and personal creative writing. There will be four major assignments that will determine the bulk of your grade, as well as a final exam." At the word "exam" there was some booing and groaning, but Harry sensed it was all for show. He wondered how on earth he'd ended up in an advanced lit class when most of his writing assignments at Hogwarts had been barely passable.

"Ah," Mr. Faber continued, "It appears we have two students new to the school in our class. One of which . . . " he scanned the room and looked back at his sheet, "has not yet arrived. But the other appears to be here in the front row." He gave a nod in Harry's direction. "Nicely done, sir." There were a few chuckles. "Care to introduce yourself?"

Harry stood up shakily and took a deep breath. "I'm Harry. Potter." He stammered, and instinctively waited for the gasps he was used to hearing after making that statement. But none came, of course. Everyone was just looking up at him politely. "I, er, come from England." He quickly sat back down.

"Wonderful. Welcome to our school. And I'm sorry we don't have a rugby team." said Faber, then he went on to discuss the syllabus. That was it? That was . . . pretty easy. Aside from the rugby comment. Guess he would be hearing a lot of that kind of thing, but he'd trade that for "chosen one" whispers any day of the week.

Harry's eyes wandered around the room as Faber was refreshing the class on the proper use of something called a "search engine" (Arthur Weasley would have been thrilled). Then without warning the door burst open. Harry's stomach dropped and his mouth went dry as he found himself staring at a tall blonde boy in muggle clothes who looked exactly like--but _couldn't_ be--Draco Malfoy.


	3. Swallow My Doubt Turn It Inside Out

Harry had a panicked discussion with himself in the span of ten seconds.

- _It's not him._  
_-Sure looks like him._  
_-It's impossible._  
_-But what if it isn't?_  
_-Everyone's got a double . . ._  
_-This resemblance makes the Weasley twins look like distant cousins._  
_-Fuck._  
_-Okay. Okay. Let's be logical._  
_-Logically, this boy looks exactly like Malfoy._  
_-But in muggle clothes. And maybe a bit taller._  
_-And erm, fitter. With better styled hair._  
_-So basically a hotter, American? Malfoy._  
_-Fuuuuuck._

"Ah ha, you must be--" Faber began.

"Drake." The boy finished for him, not meeting anyone's eyes. Was there an accent there? British or American? Pretty damn hard to tell on one syllable. "Drake" brushed past Harry to take a seat a few rows behind him. Harry would never forgive Felix for choosing to sit up front.

Surely Faber was going to ask Malfoy--Drake--to introduce himself like he did Harry? But Faber returned to his lecture, apparently not extending the same niceties to latecomers.

_Bloody. Fucking. Hell._

The rest of the class went by in a blur as Harry wrestled with his thoughts. He could feel Felix giving him a quizzical look from time to time, but it was no use trying to go on as normal. Harry sighed, clenched and unclenched his fists and tried to pay attention. Not going to happen.

The bell rang and Harry was still staring into space. Felix snapped his fingers in front of Harry's face.

"Hey. New guy."

"Wha-hm?" Harry whipped around to see if he could catch the blond leaving, but he had long missed his chance.

"Show's over. Watch yourself. I was this close to flicking you on that pretty little forehead," Felix grinned. Did he know what had Harry so distracted? "Hm, let's see what you've got next." And again Harry's schedule was swiped from his hands. _I've got to stop waving that thing around_ , he thought with mild annoyance.

"Nice. You've got FACS with Jo. She'll be psyched. It's just down the hall."

"Facts?" Harry said, confused.

"No, FACS. Y'know. Family and Consumer Sciences? Do you guys have that in Britain?" Harry stared blankly. "Home Ec?" Felix tried again.

Oh. Right. He'd seen that on some American film.

"Oh yeah," he tried to recover. "But itsn't that . . . only for girls?"

"Seriously, man? Was your school stuck in the seventies?" Felix gave him a little shove.

"You have no idea," Harry said drily.

"I took it last year," said Felix, shrugging. "Actually pretty useful. I can sew on a missing button and bake a killer cherry pie." He turned and winked over his shoulder. "Later."

Harry watched him go, somewhat reluctantly. He took one last look down either side of the hallway before giving up and heading to what he was sure would be a ridiculously useless American class. Maybe "Drake" had that class too? Might not be so bad if he could see Malfoy in an apron . . . 

_Shit. Get a grip, Potter._

This was going to be trouble. 


	4. The Plans I Make (Still Have You In Them)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intro to Draco's POV. Will go back and forth between the two from now on, but not within the same chapter.

Draco emerged from his spot tucked away behind a row of lockers just in time to see Potter disappear around the corner. _Of course Potter wasted no time befriending the riff raff here,_ he thought haughtily. But then he checked himself. He didn't think that way anymore. Maybe he never really did. Truthfully, he wasn't sure why he hated that muggle boy who winked at Potter, hated him with such force and so suddenly, but it wasn't because he was a muggle. Maybe it was because he had incidentally hated all of Potter's friends. Because he hated Potter. Yes, that was it. He groaned inwardly. Why had he agreed to do this?

***

_He paced the floor in McGonagall's office like a caged animal. How had it come to this?_

_"Draco, I'm afraid you haven't got much of a choice. Not everyone will be forgiving after this war, no matter how much protection your father buys. He will be incapable of helping you. His trial will be swift and his punishment severe," McGonagall paused, "as he well deserves."_

_Draco looked at her and then away. "I know. I know better than anyone." She cast him a glance of disdain mixed with pity, which he loathed. "So you're shipping me off to live with muggles to learn my lesson and that will fix everything I suppose?" He scowled._

_"If it were that easy, we would have shipped you off seven years ago," McGonagall said blithely, unrattled. "As it stands, you seem to have made enemies on both sides, and merely living with muggles will not be enough to convince our side that your heart has truly changed. Though it is a good start. No, I'm afraid it's a great deal more than that. You will have a task to complete."_

_Draco froze. "A task?" He struggled to regain his composure.  "I'm sorry, Professor . . ."_

_"Headmistress, if you don't mind."_

_He fumed silently. "Headmistress. I'm sorry, but if you recall, I often fail to complete the tasks I'm assigned," he said bitterly, hoping his tone didn't betray the fear he still felt remembering that night._

_McGonagall softened. "No. You don't complete tasks you aren't meant to complete. You don't complete tasks that should never have been thrust upon you in the first place. That is no failure on your part." He moved his lips to speak but she continued, "This task, however, is your destiny." Draco thought--or at least desperately wished--she was joking. But her expression was clear._

_"I think you have confused me with the Chosen One," he muttered, and regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth. "I--I didn't mean it like--"_

_"I know how you meant it," said MGonagall, giving him a piercing look. "For so long you considered him your enemy. You thought you had nothing in common."_

_"Well we weren't exactly--"_

_"You convinced yourself that you hated him." The words hung in the air. McGonagall moved to place her hand on his shoulder but he recoiled._

_"Yes. And now he's dead," Draco said flatly, willing himself to appear impassive._

_McGonagall glanced at Dumbledore's portrait before making a statement that shook Draco to his core._

_"That, Mr. Malfoy, is where you're wrong."_

***

 _And there he goes,_ Draco thought. _The fucking boy who fucking lived and apparently convinced everyone he fucking died. Waltzing around a muggle school, making muggle friends, and forgetting everything about the world to which he rightfully belongs_. Fucking coward. Well, task or no task, Draco was going to have more than a bit of fun putting his old nemesis in his place. Anything Potter could do, Malfoy could do better, and if the task was playing muggle, so be it. Draco walked swiftly to catch up, while telling himself how infuriating and pathetic it was that Potter was once again front and centre in his life. He had to keep telling himself, because if he stopped for only a minute, he might have to admit he hadn't felt this alive since the last day of the war.

 _Ah well then, nothing for it_ . . . Draco stepped into the crowd just a few paces behind the boy, just close enough for Boy Wonder to hear him when he said (in his best American accent) "Excuse me?" He noted with satisfaction how Potter couldn't resist turning to look at him, and took even more pleasure in completely ignoring his stare as he casually tapped the shoulder of a random girl walking beside him. She jumped a little, then gave him a shy smile. "Hello. Sorry to bother you. Could you tell me where to find the office?" The girl was slight and waifish with a long blonde braid trailing down her back, and looked as though she'd just won the lottery.

"Of course! Why don't I show you?"

"Awesome. That'd be great."

Draco could feel Potter's burning gaze intensify. He revelled in it briefly before turning to face those familiar green eyes. It threw him, just for a second, to see Potter in the flesh, living and breathing, after months of believing the boy was dead. It caught him off guard, how at home he felt, how relief washed over him. But never mind.

"I'm sorry. Do I know you?" He smiled a particularly un-Malfoy smile, all doves and innocence.

Potter opened and closed his mouth, which was admittedly . . . distracting. But not distracting enough. This was too easy, and way too much fun. Draco arched his eyebrows as though he were repeating the question.

Potter set his jaw and shook his head slowly, almost imperceptibly. "No. I must have you confused with someone else," he said evenly.

"Isn't that strange?" Said Draco, dripping politeness. "I almost made the same mistake. But in my case, that would be impossible. Nice accent, by the way."

Draco linked arms with his new admirer and gave a formal little nod.

 _And fuck you too, Potter_.


	5. Just Where I Was Before You Appeared

Harry stood frozen in the hallway, biting back contempt and . . . disappointment? The bell rang, startling him. He shuffled into the classroom.

Jo was ecstatic to see Harry join her in FACS class. She insisted they pair up for the first assignment--something about balancing a . . . . bludger? No, a budget. It was excruciatingly mundane and confusing at the same time, but Jo did her best to keep things interesting. True, she was a little much, but Harry was grateful to have someone to take his mind off whatever the hell it was that just happened in the hallway with Not Malfoy.

But it had to be Malfoy. Even with that perfect American accent, that stupid American name, and those nearly threadbare muggle jeans that were just a little too-- _Nothing. Never mind. Anyway._ But what was he playing at? " _Awesome?!" "That'd be great?!" What the actual fuck?_

Harry was used to suspecting Malfoy of being up to something; that was as natural as breathing. But in the past he'd always had a pretty good idea of what exactly it was that Malfoy was up to. Not this time. Why? Why would Malfoy follow him halfway across the world into a society he undoubtedly despised, just to pretend to be someone he wasn't? And why wouldn't he admit they knew each other? It made no sense, and it was infuriating.  

Not to mention worrisome. As far as Harry knew, Malfoy was the only person other than Dumbledore who knew Harry was alive. What would he do with that knowledge? Was this all an elaborate scheme for some sort of twisted revenge? And what was that breathlessness that pulled at Harry's chest whenever they were in the same room?

Harry wanted to punch the nearest wall.

Jo was studying him with a bemused expression. "Brooding?" She teased.

"Sorry. I guess I'm being rude. I'll finish my part of the assignment at home."

"Oh, don't worry about it. It's so mysterious. I love it," Jo said airily. "I can see why Felix finds you so fascinating."

Harry stopped short. "Felix--what? Fascinating how?"

She gave him a knowing look. "You can't be _that_ clueless."

"But--but--I just met him two hours ago! You mean Felix is--"

"Interested." Jo cut in. "And if you weren't such an innocent little puppy you'd have noticed that he hasn't been able to take his eyes off you."

Harry was reeling. He felt flattered and uncomfortable and well, kind of turned on but mostly bewildered. "I thought he was just trying to be nice to the new kid," he said unconvincingly.

"Felix doesn't try to be nice," said Jo matter-of-factly. "Felix _is_ nice. And cute, and generous, and definitely boyfriend material. Y'know, in case you're looking."

"And what makes you think I'm, y'know, into . . ."

"Guys?"

"Yeah. And keep your voice down." Harry muttered.

Jo was unfazed. "Oh, that was easy. I saw your little encounter with that tall blonde glass of water out there." She stopped to fan herself, clearly enjoying this. "Wild horses couldn't drag you away. Can't say I blame you. Honestly though, I think you're barking up the wrong tree. Looked pretty one-sided. Sorry dude." She was much too pleased with herself.

Yep, Felix's "fucking insufferable" descriptor for Jo was accurate. But had it really been that obvious? She had to be  mistaken  but . . .

"What--that was--that was--" _Fuuuuck_. "It's not like--" _One sided? Really_? The bell rang and again he ignored it.

Jo placed a hand on Harry's back and guided him out the door. "Honey. Breathe. Your secret's safe with me. Like I said, I don't blame you. That guy is gorgeous. But he's the kind of gorgeous that has a very specific, boring type and I just don't think that's you. I mean, correct me if I'm wrong. Felix, on the other hand . . ."

Harry didn't even want to consider why he was annoyed at the thought of Malfoy having a type that was not, well, him. However, the thought of Felix not taking his eyes off him . . . Was it true? What did Felix's eyes look like again? Deep blue, with a sort of smoky quality . . .

"Did I hear my name?" Felix had just come up behind them. Harry felt his cheeks flush and his stomach lurch. Maybe Jo was just having him on. Could this boy really be interested in boys? And in him? _And am I interested in boys? For fuck's sake, living with muggles was supposed to be simple. This is way too confusing._

Jo kissed Felix's cheek. "Always, Felix, always. You know you're the hottest gossip in this school."

" _Was_ the hottest you mean." Felix sighed ruefully and glanced at Harry.

"Ah, so you noticed him too then huh?"

"Who?" Felix frowned.

"Captain America over there." Jo cocked her head over to where Malfoy was now standing, leaning against a locker and peering down at the piece of paper in his hands with his signature scowl. A strand of platinum hair fell into his eyes. Harry unwillingly noted for the second time how much he preferred this current look to the slicked back oh-hey-I'm-a-villain look Malfoy had favoured for so long. It was a shame he hadn't tried the American Muggle look years ago. Or maybe it wasn't.

"Oh." Felix grimaced. "No, I didn't mean him. He's . . . "

"Let me guess, not your type?" Jo finished for him.

"Not quite."  The three of them walked together down the hall towards the cafeteria.

"Funny," said Jo, ever so casually, "Harry and I were just discussing your type."

Harry wanted to melt into the floor. But Felix wasn't taking Jo's bait. He kept walking.  "I bet you were. Secret's out then?"

At the word 'secret," Harry blurted, "What secret? There's no secret," and felt his face grow hot.

Felix grinned, a sight Harry was already beginning to enjoy a little too much. "Not really a secret. I don't care if people know that I'm bi. I just don't go advertising it."

"You're bisexual?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.

"Yeah. Isn't that what Jo told you?" Felix turned his head slightly.

"Er . . . Yes? I just thought . . ."

"Don't look so surprised. I could hardly deny half the population a chance to get with this," Felix popped the collar on his jacket and waved his hand up and down his torso. Harry laughed in spite of himself.

 _Well, when you put it that way_ , he thought.

Jo snorted. "Don't encourage him, Harry. I swear he's only bi so he can use that line. I think I'll vomit if I hear him say it again."

Felix gave Jo a mocking pout. "Tsk, tsk. Green ain't your colour, Jo-Jo," He paused to catch Harry's reaction before adding, "Looks damn fine on you though, Harry. It's a shame you're straight."


	6. Bite My Lip And Close My Eyes

They were nice, the Meltons. They were as Dumbledore had promised: good people who actually cared what happened to him. Harry was their first foster kid, and he wondered if that was why he could sense their desperate need to do everything perfectly. They constantly asked him if he needed anything, how he was feeling, if he wanted to talk, if his room was okay. And he did appreciate it. For once in his life he felt like a normal teenager with overbearing, uncool parents who only wanted to spend more time with him.

So for their sake he tried. He told them about his teachers, a little about Felix and Jo, a little about himself. He couldn't bring himself to say anything about his real parents. He couldn't stomach lying about who they were, and talking about them honestly wasn't an option either. He was so grateful the Meltons didn't ask, even though they must want to know.

As for how he was really feeling these days, well, couldn't be honest about that either. Harry could just imagine how that conversation would go. _Well, I'm suddenly interested in boys? Or maybe I always was. And I think Felix likes me, and I'm attracted to him too. But actually it's my old school enemy from England that I can't stop thinking about, who has inexplicably turned up here. (And in my dreams. Every night.) And somehow it makes me furious and sad and horny and so if you'd excuse me I'd like to just go to my room and take care of that until I fall asleep. Oh, and thanks for packing me an extra blueberry muffin yesterday. It was delicious._

Harry turned over in bed and punched the pillow. Malfoy was going by the name "Drake Malloy" and had gained quite a following, almost constantly surrounded by a group of popular girls and a few calculating boys. He seemed to have no problem slipping into his new role. He played up the mysterious factor by not telling anyone where he was from. He dressed like a model for a high fashion muggle brand, all collars and sweaters and carefully tattered jeans barely hanging on to his porcelain hips. It was nauseating. And hot. God, it was hot.

And then there was Felix, who was all but openly pursuing him. He balanced the friendly/flirtatious line expertly, which was intriguing. Harry never mentioned anything about being interested, but he couldn't be sure Jo hadn't. She tended to take matters into her own hands whenever possible.

Harry genuinely liked spending time with Felix. They had one class together without Jo or Malfoy: American History, which Felix already seemed to know everything about. Harry's memory was atrocious, even more so since the war, but Felix was happy to spend time tutoring him during their free period afterwards. Felix even made flash cards and goofy rhymes to help him out. Harry was more than grateful. It was adorable and sweet and it should have been the highlight of his day.

Should have been. If Malfoy had never shown up, Harry was sure he would be completely happy here, content with his new life and this new relationship--if he could call it that. But Malfoy had shown up. And he seemed intent on doing what he did best: ruining everything. Any time Malfoy walked into a room, Harry went into a tailspin. He was immediately drawn to him. He couldn't concentrate, could barely remember to breathe. After a week, it wasn't getting better; it was getting worse. And his distraction had not escaped Felix, he was sure, but the other boy was too polite to mention it.

Every time Harry closed his eyes at night, it was Malfoy's face he saw. Malfoy giving his winning smile away to every girl who clamoured for it. Malfoy looking thoughtful as he answered Mr. Faber' questions on the effects of iambic pentameter in romantic verse. Malfoy throwing a fucking frisbee around at lunch. A _frisbee_ for god's sake. Malfoy's tousled hair and his slender fingers running through it. Malfoy's pink lips open in an easy laugh.

Malfoy. Malfoy. Malfoy . . . Harry bit into his fist to stifle a moan. 


	7. Not Like I Faint Every Time We Touch

"Okay, you're getting a lot better," said Felix, his voice warm and encouraging.

"You're just saying that," Harry sighed. He looked up and down the stacks of books in the library as if they might have the answer to what felt like the one millionth American History question Felix was quizzing him on.

"No, you are. You know this. Just think about it." He held the card out hopefully: Name the Treaty that ended the War of 1812

"Seriously Felix," Harry groaned. "I have absolutely no idea. Just a little hint?"

Felix shot him a look. "Rhymes with went."

"Kent?"

"Harry, man, you're not even trying!" Felix said, his voice stern but a smile playing on his lips.

"Why should I? I don't care!" Harry said, pretending to be exasperated,  but in truth he was enjoying this. It was fun having Felix play the teacher. He would have given Hermione a run for her money. Harry half expected Felix to start lecturing him on the importance of 19th century military weapons, but what happened next was quite different.

Felix was looking at him strangely, tentatively. He slowly leaned over the table between them until his face was inches from Harry's. Harry stared into the ocean deep blue green eyes, taken aback and unable to move. "What do you care about then?" Felix half-whispered.    

Harry heard himself whisper back, "I don't know." _Oh, nicely done, there Harry. You can do better than that._ He cleared his throat. "Is there something you . . . want me to care about?"  They held each other's gaze for one heart-wrenching moment before Harry saw Felix's eyes flicker towards his lips. _Here? Now? Oh what the hell_ . . . Harry closed his eyes and moved in closer, heart thumping.

Felix tilted his head expertly, opening his mouth just a little--an invitation. His lips were soft and gentle. When they brushed Harry's he felt a shiver down his spine. Felix brought one hand up behind Harry's head and tugged gently at his hair. Harry's breath hitched. His opened his own mouth without thinking, and then their tongues were moving together, hot and rhythmic and dizzying. Harry forced himself to pull away, remembering where they were. Felix sat back with a sly smile. "What took you so damn long?"

Harry gave a low chuckle. "That was . . . thank you."

"Any time, Harry. And I do mean any time."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said shakily. "Er, I do have a question though."

"I love questions. Shoot." So cool and casual, even after they'd just kissed for the first time in a public school library.

"Did you know? That I was . . .?" Harry

"Jo told me." Felix crossed his arms across his chest as of to say "obviously."

"Of course she did." Harry gave a wry smile.

"Said you could thank her later."

"I guess I'll have to."

"Later though, right?" Felix reached across the table to take Harry's hand. Harry looked down at their clasped hands and then back up at Felix, who was now wearing a more serious, urgent expression. "I know somewhere we could . . . study some more."

Harry blinked and swallowed. He hadn't made up his mind what to say when they were interrupted. The bell rang--and didn't stop ringing. Harry looked at the clock to see they were only halfway through the study period.  Harry covered his ears and mouthed "What the fuck?"

"Fire Drill!" Felix shouted. "Come on."

_Right. Forgot about those._ He followed Felix out into the hall where there was a buzzing pandemonium of students grinning at their good luck and teachers trying unsuccessfully to get them to follow protocol by calmly exiting the building in single file. The teachers, Harry noticed upon inspection, were not merely annoyed; they looked anxious. He thought he heard one of them say, "I wasn't informed of this drill!" and another answer back "Neither was I!" Was it possible there was a real fire? Trying and failing to ignore his hero instincts, Harry scanned the hallways and classrooms around him for flames or smoke, but everything looked all right.

He felt Felix grab his hand again and pull. Right. Better keep walking. They made it out and stood on the lawn of a church across from the school, along with the rest of the students and staff. Harry spotted Jo talking with some friends, but that wasn't who he was looking for. Felix was saying something to him but he wasn't listening. His heart was in his throat as his mind drummed "Come on Malfoy. Come on Malfoy."

No sign of the the blonde bastard. Where was he?

"Harry!" Felix was standing right in front of him now.

"Sorry. What?" Harry said brusquely.

Felix looked stung. "We can go back in now," he said, eyeing Harry uncertainly. "Someone pulled the alarm as a prank."

"Oh." _But where is he?_ Harry still didn't move.

"Okay, well, see ya around." Felix turned abruptly away and started walking back towards the school.

"Felix, wait!" Harry shook his head and forced himself to be reasonable. Thankfully, Felix stopped. "I'm sorry. I was just confused."

"That makes two of us," said Felix, not managing to sound quite so cool and casual this time.

"I know," Harry said softly.  "I really am sorry. Could we still study? Tomorrow?"

Felix let out a breath and nudged Harry. "Of course. I'll bring the flash cards."

"Or maybe . . . don't?" Harry raised his eyebrows.

Felix smiled. "Whatever you say."

They walked through the front doors together. Harry had almost forgotten his concern for Malfoy when he saw the platinum blonde head in the window of the the main office. Relief flooded over him. The fire chief was just leaving, and Malfoy was speaking to the principal. Why? We he leaving? What was happening?

Harry touched Felix's hand. "Forgot something in my locker. See you last period?"

"Sure." Felix trailed his thumb down the inside of Harry's wrist and into his palm. "See you then."

_Damn. Damn damn damn what am I doing?_

Harry edged closer to the office window and peered inside. He could overhear some of what was said, but that was less important than what he could see. For once, Malfoy looked like his old self, muggle clothes notwithstanding. His face was petulant and defiant, his chin jutting out and his eyes cutting.  It made Harry all kinds of homesick and nostalgic. He half expected to see McGonagall's face when he looked up at the principal. _Just like the good old days,_ he couldn't help thinking. From what he could gather, Malfoy was in some trouble, but not loads. He heard the words "free to go" and saw Malfoy stand up. Harry had to quickly step behind the door as it opened and pray that it stayed open long enough for him to go unnoticed. It did, thank Merlin.

He watched Malfoy stalk off in the other direction.  _Missed you, you stupid, arrogant prat._


	8. Not Thinking of You (Again)

Draco slouched on the bench against the cement wall as the principal, Mrs. Bennet, outlined the reasons for his detention.

"Pulling a fire alarm as a prank is a serious offence, Mr. Malloy," she scolded while drumming her fingers on her desk.

"Drake," he interrupted, looking bored.

She continued without stopping. "It puts our students and staff at risk, and it takes resources from those who might be experiencing a genuine emergency. Frankly, students have been suspended for less."

"For flipping a bloody switch?!" He said incredulously. _Easy now. Don't let your British out when you're pissed._

"Yes. But seeing as you are new here and your teachers have only good things to say about you, I will consider this a warning. You will serve detention in the library during study period four for the rest of the week."

"Oh god no, anything but that," he moaned.

"Do not test me, Mr. Malloy."

"Drake," he repeated through clenched teeth.

"You are free to go."

Draco fought every urge inside of him to keep from slamming the door on his way out. He muttered to himself all the way to his locker.

_Perfect. Just fucking perfect._

***

"Good morning, folks," Faber took a sip from his unbearably corny "You can't scare me I teach" mug and checked through the attendance roster.

There was a half-hearted response from the students. The novelty of school back in session had worn off and now it was just too damn early in the morning for Shakespeare. Heads rested on desks and pens clicked distractedly.  

"So. It seems we've lost a little finesse in our discussions," Faber observed, tapping on the odd student's desk as he walked the aisles,  "and I have a good idea why."

"Because Shakespeare sucks?" Came a voice from the back of the room.

"Thank you for your opinion, Dylan, but that's not where I was headed."

Draco saw Potter and his friend share a glance, some inside joke. His chest ached and throat burned watching them. He told himself it was because he was still angry at Potter for faking his death (really--who does that?)and forcing Draco into this mission. Potter had no right to be so fucking cheerful after fucking everything up. _No right to look so fit in those ridiculous corduroy trousers either. Or to be smiling like that at someone else._

"As I was saying, I think I know why you've lost interest. This is a play; it is meant to be performed, not read." A few students perked up. "Which is why I've spoken to Ms. Austen, the drama teacher, about collaborating . . ." At the word "drama" there were some squeals and some groans. Draco did not like where this was heading. "Yes, that's right. We will be staging a performance of this play together with the senior drama class, and will be performing it in four weeks' time." Squeals became cheers and groans became protests. Faber held up his hands. "I know, I know, not all of you are budding thespians, but there will be a place for everyone in this production. Those who do not receive an acting role will work on the technical side of things--costumes, make up, lights, sound, stage crew--there are endless opportunities for learning."

 _Oh thank Merlin,_ Draco heaved a sigh of relief, _a way out._

"I will, however, have to insist that everyone audition. You may just surprise yourself."

So close, yet so far . . . 

"You will spend this period reading over the play and deciding which passage you'd like to perform for your audition. You may perform a section of dialogue with a partner, or fourteen lines of text on your own. Be ready for tomorrow. It does not need to be memorized." More groans. More protests. But after a while the class settled down with their noses in the play, scouring for something interesting, or easy, or fun, or romantic.

_No doubt Potter will partner up with Smokey Blue Eyes. Bastard._

Draco flipped through the pages in an effort to find something that wouldn't make him feel like a complete fool, but he didn't have much hope. _Everyone in this piss poor excuse for a play is a lovesick idiot or just an idiot. Bloody Hell. Muggle education is humiliating._

Well, there was Oberon. It was too bad he was king of the fairies because otherwise he seemed all right. At least he wasn't moping about after some maiden and or playing the bumbling peasant. And he was obviously in charge. Oberon would have to do.

Draco' eyes flicked back over the Potter, who was now sharing a book with the other boy, their heads nearly touching as they whispered together. Most of the students were trying out lines together, laughing and being overly dramatic. It made it very heard to concentrate. Then one voice in particular found his ears. Potter was trying out the role of Lysander, one of the lovers.

" _Could ever hear by tale or history,  
The course of true love never did run smooth. . ."_

  Then for some inexplicable reason, Potter turned to look behind him, catching Draco's eye, then hastily turned back around.

He hadn't done a particularly good job reading it. Potter was hopeless at cadence and subtlety. But his voice when he said those words . . . and his eyes when they found Draco's . . . of course it meant nothing, would always mean nothing. So Draco wouldn't dwell on it. Not now, not later, not every moment of the the rest of the day.

No, he wouldn't.

***

Draco walked alone through the suburbs surrounding the school. It was lunch hour and he had no interest in pretending to be Mr. Popular today. He kicked a twig and felt the dry leaves crunch under his feet. It was decent weather at least. Warm and sunny for fall in the midwest. Draco thought of Hogwarts this time of year, how the light would be over the lake and the grass around it would seem to glow. A cat crossed his path and startled him.

"Watch it, puss" he muttered. The cat hissed.

"Watch yourself, Mr. Malfoy." Draco's head snapped up to see McGonagall transfigured before him..

"Headmistress. What are you--?"

"Believe me, I'd rather not be here, but when it comes to you and Mr. Potter, there's never been much concern for my wishes."

Draco took a sudden interest in the leaves scattering the sidewalk.

"I think you know why I'm here."

"You're checking up on my task," he stated tersely.

"Oh, is that what you call it, Mr. Malfoy?" She gave him her best McGonagall eyebrow arch. "Because it is my understanding that a task involves accomplishing something, and I've yet to see you do that in these two weeks. You don't have all the time in the world, as you must be aware."

"I am. And I'm working on it."

"Oh, splendid. You're working on it. How, may I ask?"

He stared blankly, cursing his Malfoy wits for deserting him.

"As I suspected," she tsked. "Allow me to remind you that regardless of how you personally feel about Potter, this mission must be successful, for sake of the the Wizarding world--"

"And what about his sake?" Draco said softly.

"Pardon?" McGonagall snapped.

"What about him? What he wants? You know he actually seems happy here." It pained Draco to admit it, but it was true. Potter was relaxed, cheerful, himself. Except when Draco was interacting with him of course, which was even harder to admit.

McGonagall seemed to be weighing his words. "Hey may be happy enough, Draco, but he won't stay that way. A wizard cannot live as a muggle forever. Magic has a certain way of outing itself when it's been ignored for too long. Potter needs to realize his mistake before it's too late."

"Too late for us or too late for him?" Draco knew how she would answer before she spoke.

"Both."


	9. And You Just Listened

They were in his bedroom, "rehearsing" very quietly while the Meltons watched television downstairs. Felix slid his hand under Harry's t-shirt and kissed his jaw, sending a tingling excitement through him. Harry closed his eyes and pulled Felix closer, still not quite over the fact that he was snogging a boy on his bed. Thank Merlin his foster parents assumed his was straight and therefore had no problems whatsoever with him having Felix there and closing the door. This is not quite what he meant when he had asked for a normal life but by the gods he would take it.

They hadn't done much more than kiss up until now. Felix was more experienced, but Harry didn't know just how much more. He was _very_ curious but not ready to ask. And Felix was so _very_ good at taking things slow, which is what Harry said he needed (though it was obvious, just now, that his body disagreed). Long kisses, deliberate movements, fingers trailing down his abdomen and teasing only just below his hips.  Felix was pulling up his shirt now and kissing slowly, so slowly down every inch of Harry's chest, until he reached the fly of his jeans.

"Fuck" Harry breathed.

"Ssh," Felix threw him a devilish look.

"No, seriously, we can't--I can't--"

"Because you don't want to?" Felix smiled like he knew the answer.

Harry gave an exasperated sigh and nodded his head towards his tented khakis. "Does it look like I don't want to?"

"Well then, what is it?" Felix straightened up, wincing a little at his own discomfort, Then crawling to sit next to Harry.

"It's going to sound stupid."

"Try me."

 _Damn it I don't deserve him._ "It's just, well, call me old-fashioned . . ." Harry began tentatively.

"Okay, Old Fashioned."

Harry swatted at him. "Kindly shut it, wanker."

"Kindly stop being so cute and sexy and British or I will not be responsible for my actions."

"You sound like Jo," he chuckled.

"Girl's got a point sometimes," Felix sighed, shaking his head. "Now out with it."

Harry turned his head away. "I don't want to have sex . . . or do anything close to resembling . . . that . . . unless I love that person." He forced himself to look back at Felix, who had an unreadable expression on his face. "Do you hate me?"

There was a slight pause. Harry held his breath.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Felix slipped his arm around Harry's waist.  "Of course I don't hate you. I'm crazy about you. I thought that was obvious."

"So you're not mad?" Harry asked in a small voice.

"Come on, I'm not a total dick."

"A halfway dick at most," Harry agreed with mock sincerity.

"Be lying if I said I wasn't a little disappointed though. . ." He said with a sidelong grin.

"Be lying if I said I wasn't either, quite honestly." Harry nestled his head on Felix's shoulder.

Felix responded by kissing his ear lobe. "So, there is something I've been wondering . . ."

"Yeah?" Harry tensed.

"Did you really have a girlfriend at your last school?"

Harry nodded slowly as Ginny's face came to front of his mind. "I really did. Hard though it may be to believe."

"No, it's not that. I was just wondering . . ." Felix traced the inside of Harry's elbow. "How far did you go with her?"

Harry swallowed. "About . . . as far as we have."

Felix nodded. "Did you love her?" There was a stoic determination in his eyes.

"Yes," said Harry, strained. "But I realized too late that I didn't love her in that way. Not the way she wanted me to."

"I'm sorry. It sounds like she meant a lot to you."

"She did," Harry admitted. It felt good to say it out loud. "But I don't really want to talk about it anymore."

"Yeah. Sure." Felix looked like he was about to drop it, to get up and leave, but then he stopped. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you could ever fall in love with me? They way you couldn't, with her?" The vulnerability on his face made Harry want to snog him senseless right then and there, but he just kissed him softly on the lips.

"I think," he kissed him again. "It's a very real possibility." Harry believed the words as he said them.

Felix kissed him back, hard and insistent. "Good. I'll wait."

"Okay, and while you're waiting . . ." Harry reached over his lap.

"Yes? I like where this is going."

Harry picked up the paperback beside Felix on the bed.

"Maybe we should run lines?" He whispered innocently.

Felix punched him in the shoulder.

"Fuck! That really hurt!"

"It was supposed to. Fine. Read your fucking lines." He pouted, but Harry could see his smile threatening to break though.

"If you say so." Harry eased himself back into Felix's arms.


	10. All Your Faults In Me

Audition Day.

Somehow Felix had talked Harry into reading the part of Hermia while he read Lysander.

"It's just that you said you didn't want a part anyway but I _really_ want to be Lysander. Please? Besides, all the women's roles were played by men in Shakespeare's time." Harry had a retort in mind but it died on his lips when he saw how much Felix wanted this. It was just an audition, after all.

"You owe me," he said warningly.

"Anything, doll face. Name your price."

"I'll let you know when I decide," Harry said, his voice low and teasing. "And don't call me that."

"No problem, buttercup." Felix gave him his only-for-Harry mischievous grin.

They were gathered in the cafeteria with the senior drama class. The lights were dimmed and there was a lamp set up at the front to imitate a spotlight. Rows of chairs were placed in a semi-circle. Faber stepped to the podium at front and centre.

"Ladies and gentleman, please take your seats. I remind you how important it is to be a good audience. No distractions please. None. We will do this in an orderly fashion. I will call you up one by one, or pair by pair if you have a partner. Do your bit, take a bow, then sit back down. I'd like to have a cast list up tomorrow so let's get started. I'll allow the bowl of fate to decide who goes first. Ms. Austen, please do the honours."

Ms. Austen walked up to the fish bowl to pull out a name.

"Drake Malloy."

 _Showtime_ , Harry couldn't help thinking smugly to himself. Malfoy probably fancied himself much to good for such base entertainment as muggle theatre. This would be entertaining. 

Malfoy cleared his throat. He walked to the podium wearing a white fitted button down shirt and snug black jeans. Sleek, professional, and extremely flattering, especially with the top two buttons undone like that . . . _Focus, Harry._ One cool scan of the room, and Malfoy began.

  
" _That very time I saw, but thou couldst not,_  
_Flying between the cold moon and the earth,  
Cupid all arm'd; a certain aim he took . . ."_

Harry found himself immediately entranced. Malfoy was reciting the text from memory. Perfectly. His voice rose and fell with authority and grace. He pronounced each word of the Queen's English passionately (and in his true accent, Harry was delighted to recognize). The room was pin-drop silent except for his voice--Malfoy reading Shakespeare like it was his fucking _job_. Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

" _And loosed his love shaft smartly from his bow,  
As it should pierce one hundred thousand hearts . . ."_

He sat breathless watching him, never wanting this to end. He unconsciously sought Malfoy's attention. _Look at me. For the love of gods, look at me._

And then he did. Malfoy caught his gaze and held it, while continuing to recite.

" _Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell:_  
_It fell upon a little western flower,_  
_Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound  
And maidens call it love-in-idleness . . ."_

"Thank you very much, Drake." Faber clapped his hands heartily three times. "I think we've found our Oberon."

Malfoy took a gracious bow and walked back to his seat, a secret smile betraying itself in the shadows. Harry willed himself to look away.

"Well, that will be impossible to follow," mumbled Felix. Harry didn't answer. He looked down at the smudged cue cards he was holding and prayed their names wouldn't be called next.

Ms. Austen walked back up to the podium and daintily drew out another folded piece of paper.

"Harry Potter."

 _Bloody fucking goblet of fire._ Felix nudged his arm.

"Harry? Are you ready? Do you have a partner?" Ms. Austen squinted out over the crowd.

Harry stood up. "Er, yes. Felix." They walked to the podium together.

Felix took a shaky breath and read his first line.

" _Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood--_ " There were a few giggles as the class realized Harry was the "fair love" Felix was referring to, but Felix didn't let it get to him. " _And to speak troth I have forgot our way: We'll rest us Hermia if you think it good, and tarry for the comfort of the day."_

Harry took his cue from Felix. " _Be it so, Lysander: find you out a bed; For I upon this bank will rest my head._ " More giggles.

Faber stood up. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said in a warning tone before returning to his seat.

Felix went on, " _One turf shall serve as pillow for us both. One heart, one bed, two bosoms--_ " it was no use now. They'd lost their audience completely.

Harry felt his face heat up and his palms start to sweat. He looked at Felix and mouthed "I'm sorry," then walked out of the cafeteria into the hallway and out the school doors. He kept walking, not knowing where he was going but needing to get the hell away from there.

At the moment he hated everyone. Faber for insisting everyone audition, Felix for insisting they read the lovers' parts, everyone in the class for being so fucking immature, Malfoy for doing such a bloody perfect job . . . He walked faster, knowing that when he stopped he'd have to figure out what to do. He'd stalked out of class like a child. _Fucking idiot._ Why did he always have to be so impulsive and emotional? He picked up a pebble and threw it across the road. At the exact moment he threw it, a picnic bench on the other side flipped over.

"What the--" Harry looked around for the culprit but saw no one. The street was deserted. Then he heard a voice, or, more accurately, a drawl behind him.

"Now, now, Potter. Are we having some big feelings?" Harry turned his head to see Malfoy standing just a few feet away. He sucked in his breath. _Well, now I am_ , he wanted to say, but instead he put a lot of effort into forming what he hoped was an intimidating glare. "Are you following me?"

"You? Oh that was hardly necessary. I was following the trail of tantrum destruction you've left in your wake and cleaning up after you. You're welcome." Malfoy flicked his wrist and the picnic table righted itself.

Harry looked at Malfoy and back at the table and gaped. "You mean . . . I did . . . you did . . ."

"Magic, yes." Malfoy had dropped the American accent as if he'd been speaking naturally all along.  "And at least I did mine on purpose. Yours is leaking out of you like water from a pent up dam. If you don't do something about that soon, there could be some fairly dire consequences. Of course, it's none of my business . . ." He said nonchalantly.

"So it's really you then." Harry pursed his lips. _Bastard_.

"Of course it is, Potter," Malfoy sneered. "Who else would it be? You think you're the only one who can pass as a muggle? Although I must say I think I'm doing rather a better job of it . . ."

"Lucius must be bursting with pride," Harry said flatly. He knew it was a cheap shot but he didn't care.

"My father is rotting in Azkaban, so fuck what he thinks." Shock registered on Harry's face, not because of where Lucius was, but because Malfoy seemed genuinely unconcerned. Who was this boy really? And why was he suddenly worried about Harry's use of magic? _Why_ was he here?

"So, you're talking to me now, _Drake_?" Harry ignored the excitement rising in his chest.

Malfoy raised his chin in defiance. "So what if I am?"


	11. As I Pour My Poor Heart Out

Draco circled him. "So what, Potter? What does it matter?" He tossed hair back and shrugged. It had the desired effect.

Potter exploded. "So what? SO WHAT?!" _There we are ._. . "Malfoy--what the hell! You show up here, pretending to be an American muggle, changing your name, pretending you don't know me, that we don't--"

"That we don't what, Potter?" Draco seethed as he felt his jaw tighten. "Have a history? That we aren't wizards? That you weren't the saviour of the fucking world?" His voice cracked and his entire body tensed but he kept his composure.  "Hmm . . . I wonder why that is," he stroked his chin and paused for effect. "Oh, perhaps because you _died_?"

He saw Potter stiffen at the words. _Good_. He took a step towards him so there was only a hand's breadth between them. His voice was ragged but he couldn't stop now. "Could it be because I attended your fucking funeral?" He asked, blinking away fury. "Because I watched from a distance as Granger and Weasley wept into each other's arms and placed flowers on a coffin with your fucking Quidditch broom in it in place of a body? Could that be why?"

Potter's face was pale and full of anguish. "I did it for them. I--"

Draco grabbed Potter by his shirt collar and held him close so their foreheads were touching. "Don't. You. Fucking. Dare." Draco could feel white hot tears prick his eyes and it only made him angrier. "And what about me? Never stopped to think about me did you?"

"You?" Potter said, bewildered, "Why would you . . ."

"I WAS A FUCKING DEATH EATER, POTTER!" He shouted, dropping his hands and yanking up the cuff of his sleeve to reveal the faded tracings of the mark burned there. "Your death was on my hands! And you would have let me carry that weight my whole fucking life! Without looking back!" He was sobbing now. He hated that he was sobbing.

He saw Potter stumble backwards away from him. "Malfoy . . . I . . ."

Draco wiped his arm across his face and looked the other way. "You know, I knew you never thought much of me. I knew we were on opposite sides most of the time, that we couldn't stand each other. _God_ , you were a prat. So was I, I know. But I thought that maybe you might've given a shit about my life. Just a little."

"I did," Harry protested weakly. "Please, just let me--"

"Obviously I was wrong." Draco took one last look at Potter before turning back towards the school, leaving Potter open mouthed and trembling in the middle of the street.

_Fuck._

_Fuck fuck fuck._

_That escalated quickly._

The walk back gave Draco a chance to cool off. He cringed, considering what Potter must think of him after this. This was not according to plan. No, things were not supposed to go this way at all. He'd started off strong, but it all went to shit the moment Potter opened his mouth to question his motives. As if all of this wasn't Potter's doing in the first place. How could Golden Boy not know the damage he caused to those who loved him? How could the Chosen One be so incredibly dense? And why, why did it hurt Draco more than anything anyone else had ever done to him?

He was supposed to have the upper hand here. And now he'd definitely lost it, muggle adoration be damned. Potter would go running to his tall, dark and handsome friend. It would be impossible to convince him that he'd made a mistake now. And Draco would lose him all over again.

He shivered as he approached the school. He had no desire to go back there today, and considered skipping out, but it had begun to rain and the wind was cold. What choice did he have? When the building came into view he saw the church across the road for the first time. It was out of place here in this soulless suburb. Everything surrounding it was hideous pink grey brick and cookie cutter shapes, but the church itself was looming, gothic, with red and amber tinted windows and heavy wooden doors. It appealed to Draco in a way he couldn't explain. The doors were open, despite the weather outside. He walked tentatively into the sanctuary, his steps echoing off the stone walls. Row upon row of unlit candles surrounded the altar at the front; there must have been more than a hundred. He stood in the aisle between empty pews, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and looking up at the faded pictures of muggle saints covering the walls. What now?

He didn't have long to contemplate before he heard shuffling footsteps behind him. Potter. With all the grace of a Saint Bernard, as usual.

"Sod off, I know it's you." No response. "Fuck sakes, Potter, go back to your new life and--"

And then the impossible happened. All at once, Potter stood in front of him, and in a surprisingly deft and fluid motion, the soaking wet, green eyed boy grabbed him by the shoulders, encircled his waist with his arms, and kissed him fiercely, pressing his hands into the small of Draco's back. His trembling, rain-drenched chest pressed against Draco's, and little droplets fell from the wet, tousled black hair onto Draco's cheeks. The silent, searching boy kissed Draco so hard it felt like they might both topple over at any moment. Then he pulled away, a horrified expression on his face.

"I--I don't know why I did that."

And then he was gone.

 


	12. Crazy To Want This (Even For a While)

That did not just happen _. I did not just do that._ Harry's head spun as he tried to make sense of this fuckup of a day. First the audition, then meeting Malfoy in the street, then kissing an obviously repulsed Malfoy full on the mouth in the middle of an empty church. It was not a good kiss. Malfoy had just stood there while Harry attacked him with all the expertise and tenderness of a hippogriff. And he'd expected what? A marriage proposal? _Fucking Gryffindor thing to do. Yeah, sure, just be brave and do what's in your heart without thinking and everything will work itself out. Bollocks._

The most Harry could hope for is that Malfoy would pretend it had never happened. And that was a lot to hope for, if he knew Malfoy at all. But that was the question, wasn't it? How well did he know Malfoy? Harry thought back to the blonde boy's face when he'd confronted him, its usual facade of superiority twisted in anguish and fury. He'd never seen him like that before, not in all their years as enemies.

As for what Malfoy had said, Harry could barely process it. He couldn't bear to think of his friends mourning him like that, even though he knew they would have. The image Malfoy gave him had made it so much more real. And the fact that Malfoy had the image at all was particularly perplexing. "Watching from a distance," he'd said. What did that mean? It sounded like he'd been at Harry's funeral, but somewhere on the outskirts, perhaps hidden. Harry would have expected Malfoy to make a big show of attending, in order to make it clear he was now on the right side. But he hadn't. He had just been there, watching . . . and grieving?

Harry put his head down into his arms on the library study table and wondered how he could have ever been naive enough to think that he could escape who he was, no matter where he went.

"Harry?" He looked up to see Felix standing over him. Shit. Felix. Sweet, beautiful, understanding Felix. What could he say to him? "Harry, I--I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have made you do that. I didn't know it would be like that. I was just thinking of myself. And then you walked out and I didn't go after you, and you were gone for so long. I was so worried. Fuck. Can you forgive me?" Oh, Merlin, Felix should _not_ be the one asking for forgiveness here. But Harry couldn't tell him why. Instead he stood up, wrapped his arms around Felix's neck and leaned into his shoulder. It was comfortable and familiar and made Harry think he had to belong here, at least for a while.

"I'm sorry too. I overreacted. I'm just . . . not used to . . ."

"Stop. You have nothing to apologize for." _I wish._ Felix kissed his forehead, and Harry resisted the urge to look behind him to see if anyone was around. He sat down and pulled Felix into the seat beside his. 

"I still want you to get the part. You'd be brilliant. I mean, my reading was awful but you were doing really well. I hope I didn't ruin it for you."

"You weren't awful," Felix said in the way a friend says when they know you actually were pretty awful but they like you anyway and there's no use being a shit about it. "And you didn't ruin it for me. Jo took over your part and we finished the reading."

"Agh, of course she did! Shit, Felix you should have just chosen her as your partner to begin with. I bet she was amazing. I'm sorry I missed it."

"She was awesome. She's gunning for Titania so I hope she gets it. But if I had to do it all over again, I think I'd still choose you. Rehearsing with Jo wouldn't have been nearly as much fun," he pursed his lips and looked at Harry over his glasses. _Fuck, I love it when he does that._ Harry had never been able to pull off the whole sexy librarian thing with his glasses but Felix was nailing it, as usual.

"You have a point there . . ." Harry said, suddenly pink in the cheeks. "Well I'll probably end up in the sound booth or something, but if you need any more help running lines, I'm your guy. Guess I owe you now."  

Felix raised his eyebrows. "Oh, could you say that again?"

"If you need help running lines?"

"No, after that."

"I owe you?"

"That was good too, but no, before that."

"Ah," said Harry, understanding, "I'm your guy?"

"Yeah. That part. Can that be applicable across the board or . . .?"

"Felix, are you asking me to be your . . ."

"Boyfriend. Yes. Please answer the question."

"Er . . . yes?" Boyfriend. Felix's boyfriend? It was oddly thrilling just to consider that title applying to him.

"Well don't do me any favours, Potter," Felix said wryly.  

Harry froze. No one except Malfoy called him that. Malfoy. The boy he kissed a little under an hour ago. The image flashed before him again. How could he be with Felix when he had literally just returned from kissing someone else? _But_ , he tried to reason with himself, _that kiss was an utter failure. And Felix hasn't mentioned anything about being exclusive . . . until now._ And sitting right here next to Felix and seeing the way he looked at him, the answer seemed quite clear. He squeezed in closer and in a moment of fuck-it-all daring, rested his hand on Felix's thigh under the table. "What I meant to say," Harry breathed, "was oh, hell, yes," and he moved his hand up higher while brushing his lips across Felix's neck. He could feel Felix's pulse quicken along with his own.

"Okay, so you're a fast learner," Felix said, rolling his head back and panting a little, "but I think you're forgetting where we are."

"No, I'm not," said Harry, pulling Felix's head forward and kissing him on the lips, forcing his tongue into his mouth and pushing his hand up even higher.

Felix pulled away, "Okay, whoa, whoa, slow down."

Harry grinned. "That's my line. Your line is, 'I want you, please don't ever stop.' Any time now."

"Harry," Felix groaned. "We have history in five minutes. And I can't exactly go like . . . this."

"That's fine. I can't either. So let's be late."

Felix broke into a laugh. "Who the hell are you and what did you do with my shy little British boyfriend?"

"Oh, him? Yeah, I told him to sod off so we could have some fun. He was a bit of a drag to be honest."

"Harry." Felix put his hand on Harry's and looked serious.

"What?"

"You don't have to do this for me."

"Do what?"

"Change who you are just because we're officially dating. I want you to want me, not just pretend you do. You don't have to get me off in the school library to prove you're serious."

"Felix, trust me I'm _not_ pretending," Harry said earnestly. "I think I'm just getting more comfortable with you. With us. There are a lot of things I'm not quite sure about," _Malfoy Malfoy Malfoy_ , "but I _want_ to be sure. And I definitely want you. Like, a lot."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Thank God. Okay, let's go." Felix stood up.

"Er . . . not ready."

Felix cast him a devious stare. "Haha, okay, I'll try to help . . . Faber in swim trunks."

"Surprisingly not helpful."

"Tweed swim trunks?"

"Oh fuck it, you go and I'll catch up."

Felix kissed him under his ear. "I'm counting on it."

 

 

 

 


	13. Casting Devious Stares in My Direction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a little Harry/OC heavy at the moment for a drarry fic, but trust me, I have a plan. Patience, loves!
> 
> Warning for sexual themes.

Harry took Felix by the hand and turned his key in the door of the Meltons' house. They didn't usually get home until after four, and since he and Felix had skipped out early, they would have two full hours of complete privacy. He couldn't believe he was doing this. Well, he could believe he was breaking school rules, because he'd made a career of that at Hogwarts, but then he'd always had some higher purpose in mind. This was . . . not like that.

Felix stood behind him now and wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, his thumbs tracing the insides of Harry's hips. Harry moaned a little as he fiddled with the lock, which was not cooperating. Felix growled into his neck " _Please_ hurry up."

"I'm trying," he said through clenched teeth. "You're making it harder."  
"I do my best," he smiled into Harry's ear. Finally the door swung open and the boys tossed their rucksacks, shoes and jackets onto the floor in a heap. Felix immediately slammed the door behind him. His thumbs found their way back to Harry's hips and pushed him up against the wall and his tongue ran along Harry's waiting lips. Harry returned in kind by laving Felix's tongue with his own and pulling him closer by his belt loops.

Then he felt Felix's hand move from his hips to his navel, circle there for a moment, then under his belt, under his fly, slowly, and with just the right amount of pressure . . . oh gods above how had he lived without this until now.

"Is this okay?" Felix whispered, his voice steady and his eyes full of want.

"Yes. _Yes_ . . . Don't stop . . ."

"I thought that was my line," he said, his voice low and teasing.

"Have whatever fucking lines you want just don't stop doing that."

"Whatever you say."

Harry only half registered the sound of a door opening and closing upstairs . . . Wait. Upstairs where no one was supposed to be.

"ShitFelixthere'ssomeonehere!" The boys jumped apart and adjusted their clothes and themselves.

"Harry?" A nervous, high pitched voice called.

"Uh, yeah, it's me," Harry called out. Felix elbowed him. "And Felix is here too."

"Aren't you boys supposed to be in school right now?" Mrs. Melton said, seemingly distracted by something.

"Er, yes. No. They let us out early. Due to . . . due to . . ."

"Asbestos" Felix finished for him.

"Yeah. That."

There was some rustling at the top of the stairs. Mrs. Melton came down with a wide smile. Harry noticed her hair was a little mussed up and her blouse buttoned wrong. Mr. Melton sauntered down a few steps behind her. "Hello boys," he said with unusual bravado.

 _Oh no. Oh sweet Merlin no._ Harry looked over at Felix and saw him twisting his mouth to one side in an effort not to laugh.

Mrs. Melton adjusted the silk scarf at her neck and cleared her throat. "Chris and I were just . . ."

"Just moving some furniture around. Y'know, rearranging a few things," said Mr. Melton, suddenly quite intent on staring at the photos on the walls.

"I see," said Felix, nodding with a little too much enthusiasm. Harry shot him an "I will murder you" glance," which didn't faze him in the slightest. "Harry and I thought we might take advantage of the extra time to study, if that's okay with you, Mr. and Mrs. Melton."

"Absolutely. Let us know if you need anything."

"Sure thing, thanks," said Felix. "And I really like your hair like that Mrs. Melton." She blushed crimson. Harry shot daggers at his boyfriend across the hall. The boys pushed past the dishevelled couple on the stairs and barely made it to Harry's room before Felix collapsed in laughter on Harry's bed. Harry was not amused.

"Aaaaaagh my eyes!" He groaned.

"Oh come on, that was hilarious," Felix gasped, trying to catch his breath. "I mean . . . don't get me wrong . . . I would have preferred no one was home . . . but that is some funny shit."

"What--that we came home early to be . . . to do . . .and they had the same idea on the same fucking day?" Harry said incredulously. "I will never be able to look them in the eye again."

Felix tugged Harry down onto the bed beside him. "Harry, man, relax. It could have been worse. At least they didn't catch us. They were probably so worried about what we might have heard--"

"No--no--" Harry put his hands over his ears. "Did not hear anything. Did not see anything--"

"--that they won't even bother to check our lame ass excuse for being out of school." 

Harry sighed a little smile. "It was a pretty terrible excuse. What even is Asbest--whatever you said? Sounds like a sp--" he stopped himself. 

"Like a what?" asked Felix.

 _Like a spell_ , he thought, startled at the homesickness it stirred inside him. "Nevermind."

"Okay," said Felix, unconvinced. "So . . . I'm guessing this changes our plans a little?"

"A little," Harry said reluctantly. "It's going to be a while before I can kiss you without Mrs. Melton's sex hair popping into my head."

"Ha ha, fair point. Okay, but look on the bright side,"

"Which is?"

"I bet it works better than Faber in tweed swim trunks as a way to calm down certain . . . situations?" he grinned wickedly.  

Harry shoved him. "A little too well. Promise me we will never speak of this again,"  
he grumbled .

"No fucking way. I think flustered and embarrassed Harry is my new favourite Harry," he said, his eyes twinkling as he slipping his hand into Harry's "It's adorable."

"Fine," said Harry, feigning exasperation. "Get your kicks at my expense then."

"With pleasure," Felix murmured as leaned into Harry and kissed his collarbone. "Sure you won't reconsider the change of plans? Bet I can get other things to pop into your head." His hand moved to Harry's abdomen and started its slow, winding journey back to where it had been when they'd been interrupted. 

"I suppose it's . . . worth a . . .holy hell you're good at that."

"So you don't want me to stop?" whispered Felix. 

"No," said Harry, biting his lip, "definitely . . . keep . . ." His words dissolved into moans as he clenched the bedsheets beneath him. Then, for some inexplicable reason, the bookshelf hanging above his bed fell crashing down beside them, just missing them both, scattering books and drywall dust all over the room. 

They stared at each other in shock. Harry blinked. The walk. The park bench. What was it that Malfoy had said? Something about magic leaking out of him . . . and having to do something about it. Fuck. This was going to keep happening. 

"What the fuck?" asked Felix, breathing heavily, eyes still wide. "How did that happen?"

"I don't know," Harry lied. "I think you should go. They're going to wonder what happened here."

"Yeah. You're right." Felix clambered off the bed. Harry cringed at how it looked as though Felix was backing away from him, from whatever had just happened. Was it fear in his eyes or just confusion?

Felix practically ran out of his room, muttering a quick "seeyouatschool" before swiping up his things and leaving the house. 

Fuck. There was no way he could avoid talking to Malfoy now. He needed his help.


	14. Sweet Like Candy To My Soul

"Draaaaake?" There was a knock on his bedroom door. He looked up as it opened, not caring that whoever it was hadn't waited for his response before coming in. He'd accepted that as a lost cause by now.

A girl of about six stood in the doorway with a doll in her hands--well, the doll's body in one hand and its head in the other.

"Look what Anton did," she pouted. "Can you fix it?" Her lips trembled.

Draco sighed and motioned for her to bring the doll over. She tip toed over quietly and dropped the doll pieces into his lap. He laid them on the desk in front of him. "Hm, that's quite the injury," he said, making a show of peering closely at the crack in the vinyl of the doll's neck. "Have you got any tape?" The girl's eyes lit up. "Yes! In my room!" As she bounded off to get it, Draco reached for the wand under his pillow and muttered "reparo" under his breath. The doll was in tact again. _Still creepy as hell,_ he mused, noting the fluttery eyelashes and red pursed lips on what was supposed to resemble a baby, _but in tact._ Little Brittany would be pleased.

It had annoyed him at first, the way all the children in this sprawling muggle foster home followed him around like lost lambs. It didn't matter that he hardly acknowledged them. They were constantly around, asking him inane questions, begging him to play with them, showing him their drawings or towers or telling him the most pathetic jokes he had ever heard.

There were six of them all together, ages ranging from four to twelve years. He was definitely the odd one out as a teenager. Technically he was too old to be a ward to anyone in America, but McGonagall had taken care of all the proper paperwork and subtracted a couple years from his age. Chalk it up to the Malfoy magnetism or the wisdom beyond his years, but he couldn't escape the tribe of foundlings no matter what he did. Fixing all their toys probably wasn't helping, he admitted to himself, but it was just too damn easy. The innocent gratitude and wonder in their eyes was a welcome distraction from the rest of his life here. It been so long since anyone had looked happy just to be in his presence. He hadn't known just how much he needed that.

Brittany whooshed back into his room with five rolls of tape in her arms. "I got lots!" She said excitedly.

"Okay, pass me two pieces, Brit," he said, pretending to be holding the head and body together between his thumb and index fingers. She ripped off two pieces with some effort, and proudly handed them to Draco. He turned slightly away from her while affixing the tape, then presented the doll to her, smiling in spite of himself. "Good as new."

"Woooow," she marvelled. "You can't even see the crack!" She cried. "How did you do that?"

Draco leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially, "Magic."

Brittany shrugged, as if the answer made complete sense. She loitered by his desk. He sensed she didn't want to leave.

"Draaaaaake?"

"Yeah, Brit? I do have homework, you know."

"Yeah. Okay. But I was woooondering . . ."

"Hm?"

"Can you brush my hair?" She said shyly.

"Can I _what_?" He sputtered.

Brittany giggled. "You always sound funny when you talk different like that. You sound like Scar on the Lion King." He was surprised that she'd picked up on the inconsistencies in his accent so astutely and made a note to do better at maintaining it.   
"I like it," she said simply. "But can you brush my hair pleeeease?"

Draco recoiled at the notion of participating in something so personal as grooming, especially a muggle girl with very tangled, unkempt hair.

"Can't you get one of the older girls to do it? Or Mrs. Hainsley?" He tried.

"No. Mrs. H says I cry too much. But she pulls too hard. And Lisa and Audrey say it's too gross." She sat down uninvited on the floor beside his desk and drew her knees up in front of her chest. "And Mrs. H. says if I don't get the knots out . . . she'll cut it. Like a boy's," she sniffed, catching her breath.

 _Oh good lords. Never let it be said that I have a heart of stone_ , Draco muttered inwardly to himself.

"Fine. Go get your brush and some conditioner." Oh, if his father could have seen him now, undone by a blubbering muggle child.

"Hooray!" She jumped up. "I knew you would say yes! You have the prettiest hair ever," She said adoringly, as she reached her hand out and stroked the blonde wisps at the back of his head.

 _Well, when she's right, she's right._ Oh well. Anything was better than replaying the events of today in his mind. Again.

Brittany sat still, like a little bird, as Draco started at the tips of her mousy locks with a sparkly pink brush.

"I'm afraid I'm not very good at this," he said, seeing her flinch.

"It's okay. It's not too bad," she said, squinching her eyes shut. He sprayed in more conditioner. And, with a bit more under-his-breath spell work, had the little girl's hair gleaming in just under fifteen minutes.

"You have to promise me you'll brush it more often now."

"Pinky promise," she said solemnly. "Thank you Drake."

"It's Draco, actually," he heard himself say. "My friends call me Draco."

She giggled again. "That's a funny name."

"You're a funny kid. Now get out of here and leave me to my work." She beamed at herself in the mirror before scooting out the door.

_Wonderful. Potter is getting off with his boyfriend while I'm a den mother to muggle children. Living the dream._

Draco closed his eyes and thought back to the kiss in the church. It had been so strange. How many times had he thought of what it might be like to kiss Potter? To be kissed by him? But he'd been unable to respond at all, just stood there in shock in Potter's arms, vaguely registering the scent of his damp hair and melted candle wax while his heart thumped wildly and his blood ran cold. 

Why _had_ Potter done that? And why had he looked so remorseful when it was over? The only explanation that made any sense was the one Draco dreaded the most: pity. Potter must have been moved to pity after Draco's impassioned ( _pathetic_ ) speech and probably didn't think about what the hell he was doing. After all, it was obvious that Potter was quite comfortable snogging boys, so perhaps he just took the whole Gryffindor Saves The Day motif too far. But did that mean that Potter suspected that Draco was also . . . interested? That would be unacceptably humiliating. 

He tried to stop dwelling on the details that tugged at his heart: Potter's hands at the small of his back, Potter's closed eyes and his lips pressing in earnest, somehow endearingly chaste and scintillating at the same time. 

And then . . . afterwards. When Potter had disappeared like a ghost out the door, regret written over every inch of him, and behind him, every single candle in the church suddenly aflame.


	15. Lost For You, I'm So Lost For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two new chapters today! Moving right along. We're leading up to some of my favourite parts. :D

Another knock.

"Brittany. Please. Leave me--"

Mrs. Hainsworth shoved the door open. "Someone for you outside."

"What?" He had a few school acquaintances, but he couldn't conceive of who would go through the effort of finding out where he was staying. No, wait, there was one person . . . someone he was not at all ready to see again so soon.

"Well, are you going to the door?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." Draco checked his hair in the mirror before going downstairs, heat rising in his chest, unsure of whether he was filled with hope or anxiety. Probably both.

Sure enough, Potter was standing in the foyer, hands clasped in front of him, quietly taking in the chaos on the main floor. Someone must have let him in already.

Draco stopped on the bottom step and lifted his chin in Harry's direction. "Potter."

"Malf--er, Drake. I needed to speak to you. In private . . . about . . . a school thing." He ran his fingers through his hair, which was even messier than usual. Draco didn't want to guess why. He'd seen Potter and Felix leave together.

"It couldn't wait until tomorrow?" He said, trying to sound disinterested.

"I don't think so." Potter said, looking skittish. "It's about . . . something you warned me about."

Realization dawned on him. _Of course. He wouldn't be here if he didn't need my help._

"I see. There isn't a whole lot of privacy in here, as you can imagine." A paper airplane whizzed by and narrowly missed Potter's ear. "And they have strict rules here about visitors in bedrooms."

Potter's cheeks flushed a little. "Well it's bloody freezing outside." He craned his neck and nodded towards an empty sitting room. "What about in there?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Sure, we can try that, but you'll see soon enough." Potter slid off his trainers and placed them on a crowded mud-caked mat, then stripped off his denim jacket and hung it on the only hook available on the wall. Three pairs of eyes followed his every movement.

"Er, Hullo," he said awkwardly to Brittany and two little boys. He dropped down to a squat to look them in the eyes. "I'm Harry."

Brittany giggled. "You talk like Draco does sometimes." Harry raised his eyebrows. "Draco, huh? And what's your name?"

"I'm Brittany. And that's Nathan and Derek. I'm six and Nathan is four and Derek is seven."

"Nice to meet you." The boys held back but Brittany was happy to engage with him on her own.

"Are you Draco's friend?"

"Yes," he said, glancing up to meet Draco's eyes briefly.

"Draco's nice. He fixed my doll. And brushed my hair. See? It's reeeeeally soft now." She turned and preened.

"Is that so?" Harry nodded his approval and gave Draco an amused smile. "Draco, I had no idea," he teased. Draco had to steady himself when he heard Potter speak his given name with such warmth and familiarity. This would not do.

"You were saying you needed to speak to me in private, _Harry_?" Draco said flatly.

"Oh, yes, right." He straightened up. Draco led the way to the sitting room. There was laundry covering most of the surfaces except for a loveseat in the middle of the room. Harry sat down and left Draco with the uncomfortable decision of whether to join him or remain standing. _Full of class_ , Draco thought wryly, and decided if Potter was uncomfortable sitting so close then he could bloody well get up and stand himself. Draco sunk down into the cushions, making sure their thighs were not touching by hugging the arm rest as best he could.

"So?" He said, all business and looking straight ahead.

"Well, first, I wanted to apologize for--"

"Not necessary."

Harry sighed. "You don't even know what I'm going to say."

"I have a good idea. I can forget about it if you can." _Can't. Can't. Can't._

"Okay," Potter said slowly, shifting a little. He gave off a damp, earthy scent that was driving Draco mad. "It's . . . forgotten then. There is something else. What you said about . . . my magic?"

"Keep your voice down," said Draco, glancing around them.

"Does he have magic, too, Draco?" Brittany piped up from behind the sofa.

"Brit. Out. Now." Draco pointed to the door.

"Fiiiiine," she sulked and left the room.

Draco gave Potter a "What did I tell you?" look.

"Right. So, about that . . . and needing to control it?"

"Yes. You definitely need to do that," Draco said, impatient.

"It's just, I don't understand. I'm not eleven anymore. I've had some pretty extensive training,"

"That's one way to put it," Draco said drily. _Oh, poor thick, Potter, thinking he's above the oldest laws of magic._

"Isn't it my choice whether or not to use it? Why is it causing so many problems for me now?"

"What do you mean, so many problems? I thought you didn't know it was happening," Draco said sharply.

"Well, I've had another incident and it is causing problems." Potter flushed again and palmed the back of his head. 

 _Oh, fuck. I can guess what he means._ "What happened?" Draco asked, keeping his voice even.

"Do I have to tell you?"

"What kind of question is that? Tell me what you want." _Please tell me everything. Or nothing_. "But the more information I have the better I can help. Probably."

"Probably." Potter repeated. He studied Draco, looking as though he was trying to see what the trick was. He took a deep breath. "Well, I was with, erm, my boyfriend, and . . ."

Draco was sure he had visibly reacted at the word boyfriend. He prayed that Potter hadn't noticed. He knew for his own sanity he should cut him off but his torturous side just had to know.

"And?"

"And when we were together," said Potter, studying the lint on the pillow he'd been fidgeting with on his lap, "I think I made a bookshelf fall down. Come crashing down. From where it was screwed into the wall over my bed. It didn't . . . go over well." Potter chewed his lip and raised his eyebrows sheepishly.

 _Close your mouth, Draco. Fuck sakes, close it NOW._ Potter biting his lip. Potter on his bed doing god knows what WITH A BOY. Bookshelves crashing. The lump in his throat made it difficult to breathe.

"I think . . . I think you should go," he said hoarsely.

"You said you could help me," Potter said, green eyes flashing. "Or was this just a way to get me to humiliate myself?"

"No one made you come here. And I am helping you," Draco managed through gritted teeth. "Do you have a wand?"

"Yes. Somewhere."

"Well find it. Then go find your . . . him . . . and cast a decent memory charm. We'll figure the rest out later. Please go."

"Fine. I'll see myself out." Potter huffed, slipped his shoes and jacket back on and yanked the door open. "Later, Drake."

"Potter."

Draco moaned, caught his breath and leaned against the wall in despair, wondering how everything could have gone so wrong so quickly.


	16. If You Could Only See

Harry leaned against the pole on the city bus, clutching his wand in his pocket. It was close to midnight. He'd snuck out after he was sure the Meltons were both asleep. The last thing he wanted to be doing was sneaking across town to stalk his boyfriend so he could preform a memory charm on him while he slept, but Malfoy was probably right. Harry knew the longer he left it, the stronger the memory charm would have to be, and after all this time, he was having serious doubts about being able to cast anything properly.

The bus lurched to a stop. According to the city map, this was the closest it would take him. He stepped off and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head. He wound his way through dimly lit alleyways, not daring even to use "lumos" to give him a better view of the map. He saw the house number--1261, and peeked gingerly inside. It was a bungalow, thank the gods, because without a broom he had no idea how he would have accessed a second floor window without waking the neighbourhood. He circled the house slowly, backing up against the bricks whenever he thought he heard anything stirring around him.

Finally he spotted Felix in the third window around the back of the house. His desk lamp was still on and he was stretched out a twin bed, his arm dangling onto the floor, glasses on his pillow next to a stack of books. He must have fallen asleep reading. Harry felt a rush of tenderness towards him, and a pit in his stomach for what he was about to do. He tried to reason that it was only a small spell. He wasn't going to obliviate him or anything serious. It was just fifteen minutes of his life. A couple of hours at the very most if he was sloppy. Felix would never know. _But you'll know_ , said a quiet, persistent voice that he had been trying to ignore since he came here.  _How can you be with someone who doesn't know who you are?_

***

8AM. Harry stared at the clock in disbelief. It felt like he'd barely slept five minutes. Mrs. Melton was knocking hesitantly at his door.

"Harry? Harry? Won't you be late?"

Harry groaned and sat up. "I'm awake. Thanks Mrs. Melton," he mumbled as politely as he manage.

"Do you need a ride today?"

"No, 'm fine." He rubbed his eyes. However much sleep he'd gotten, it hadn't been nearly enough. He'd spent hours awake agonizing over what he'd done. He wouldn't know until he saw Felix today how much he would remember--if anything--about yesterday. And he would have to face Malfoy after his confession.

He fumbled through what he hoped were clean clothes and found a simple pair of jeans and a plain black t-shirt that at least smelled okay. Grabbing some toast and a juice box from the counter, he made his way out the door to face the ever-more-complicated world.

Felix and Jo stood leaning against the bike racks just outside of school. Harry straightened his shoulders and walked over. Felix broke into his easy, open smile, without a trace of the uncertainty or fear Harry saw the last time they were together. Relief and guilt ran through his veins in equal measure.

"Hi Harry," Jo said with a sly smile. "And how are the Mr. And Mrs. this morning?" She ruffled the hair at the back of her head.

Felix stifled a laugh and looked at Harry guiltily. "Sorry, I had to tell her."

 _Okay, so he remembers at least that much_. "Er, satisfied. For a long time, I hope," he quipped.

"Which is more than I can say for you two, huh?"

Felix elbowed her. "Jo, shut the fuck up! I didn't tell her anything else, honest."

"You told me enough. The rest is written on your stupid adorable faces. Do you guys need a sick day to . . . catch up? I'll cover for you."

"You'd like that wouldn't you," said Felix rolling his eyes. "We're in no rush." He stepped forward and kissed Harry's cheek. "Are we?"

Harry leaned into him, but something felt off. "None," he said a little too lightly. "We better go in. The cast list is going up today, right?"

"Shit, yes! I wonder if it's up yet!" Jo scrambled for the door. Felix lingered behind with Harry.

"So, I was wondering . . . if you _are_ up for a reprise?" He said seductively, lacing his fingers through Harry's and discreetly tucking his thumb under Harry's belt. "Maybe we could find somewhere during study period . . . pick up where I left off?"

_He doesn't remember. He doesn't remember us together in my room. When I . . . and it's my fault._

"I--I--think we need to slow down again," said Harry, hating the way his voice sounded. "I'm sorry."

Felix looked hurt but only for a second. "Don't be sorry," His thumb moved away. "Whatever you need."

"It's not that I don't want to. You know that, right?" But the odd thing was, Harry didn't even know if that was true anymore. Practically speaking, it didn't matter. He couldn't risk losing control again when his magic was so unpredictable, so going farther physically was not an option now. But it nagged at him that this didn't bother him more.

"I have a pretty good idea from how you were yesterday," Felix said, his voice back to being low and suggestive. Harry remembered their heady, blissful urgency in the house after school. But it didn't feel the same, remembering it. It was like it had happened to someone else. "I can't wait to see you like that again. When you're ready." Felix gripped his fingers tighter and they went inside together. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Malfoy watching them.

***

Sure enough, the list was up on the bulletin board outside Faber's classroom, but they couldn't get anywhere near it for the crowd pressing against it. Jo came running back towards them.

"I got it! I fucking got it!" She squealed. "I'm Titania!"

"Congrats," said Harry, meaning it.

"Yeah, that's great for you, Jo, but did you happen to check what your best friend got?" Felix pouted.

"It's not my fault you two lollygagged back there to whisper sweet nothings to each other," she sniffed, "but incidentally, because I am the best friend ever, I can tell you that yes, you are Lysander." She beamed at him, obviously proud.

"I am?" Felix gasped as his eyes lit up. Harry had to smile. There was something so heart-breakingly honest about this boy who made no effort to hide his excitement for something as simple as a role in what was sure to be a very amateur high school English lit production. The unwelcome voice came back. _But you'll never be able to be as honest with him._

"Hey, Jo, did you see what I got?"

Her face fell. "Oh, I'm sorry. I was so excited I forgot to check for you."

"Classic," reprimanded Felix.

"No, it's really okay," Harry said. "I'm not expecting anything. Besides, the crowd's dying down a little now. I can check."

"I'll come with you." He and Felix fought their way through the eager students standing on tip toe to get a glimpse.

Harry read through the cast list, noting the names of his friends, and someone else.

Oberon___________________Drake Malloy

His heart drummed frantically for a moment. Would Malfoy be pleased? He hoped so, in spite of himself _He'll make a beautiful fairy king._

He scanned through the list of names twice, but didn't find his.

"Harry? Are you okay?" He could feel Felix's eyes searching him.

"Of course. I would have been worse if I got a part, I think," he said, trying to sound casual.

"Yeah, but are you okay with where they put you?

"Put me?"

"Yeah. Don't you see the other list?"

Harry's eyes fell on the list under the cast entitled "Support Crew"

Costumes_____________________Harry Potter.

His mouth hung open. "Costumes?" He croaked. "Why would they . . .?"

Jo sidled up to him. "Um, I _may_ have had something to do with that," she said apologetically.

Felix narrowed his eyes. "JO. What did you do."

She dropped the apologetic act, seeing it wasn't serving her well and gave an exasperated sigh. "Harry, whether you want to admit it or not, you really have a knack for sewing. I've seen it. Your work is meticulous. And I was talking to Faber after class--"

"Chatting him up, you mean," interrupted Felix.

"--And he seemed quite stuck on who would do costumes. The school doesn't have the budget to buy them or even rent them, but I know for a fact we have bolts and bolts of donated fabric . . . " Felix's face had clouded over but Jo persisted. "And, really, Felix, you should see Harry with a needle and thread in his mouth. It's dead sexy," she tried, hoping to lighten the mood. "Oh, for fuck's sake I was just trying to help!"

"I don't believe that for a second, but I believe you believe it," said Felix grudgingly.

"Then all is forgiven?" said Jo.

"Whatever," said Felix.

"I'll make it work. I suppose I have to," shrugged Harry.

"I'll let you measure my inseam twice," said Felix, winking and sliding his hand to rest on Harry's waist.

"You're quite tall. I better measure three times, just to be safe."

"I won't argue. It's for the good of the production."

"Such sacrifice. Such selflessness." Harry reached up to give him a quick peck on the lips, hoping to retrieve the magic of their first weeks together. But when their lips touched, he felt nothing. Then he sensed, rather than saw Malfoy approach. "I'll see you in there okay?" Felix and Jo left, chatting excitedly about their roles.

Harry stepped aside to give Malfoy room to see. Harry noted the quiet satisfaction in Malfoy's eyes and felt a sudden boldness come over him.

"Looks like I'll be dressing you, King Oberon."

Malfoy's eyes widened but he recovered quickly, as usual. "I was thinking the same thing, Potter. I do hope you can cut a straight line."

"I'll do my best. Er . . . We still need to talk," Harry looked up hopefully.

"I know. Tell me when and where," he said, not meeting his eyes.

"I'll think about it and let you know after class?"

"Fine."

Harry took a step towards the classroom door and stopped. "Malfoy?"

This time he did meet his gaze. "What?"

"Congratulations. I think you'll do brilliantly." Harry held onto the slate grey eyes as long as Malfoy would let him. "I really do," he said softly.

Malfoy nodded. "Thanks, Potter."

 


	17. Secret Heart (What Are You Made Of)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Said I wasn't going to change POV within the same chapter. I lied. Whatcha gonna do?

Draco weighed the fat stack of pages in his hands with trepidation. Faber had given the actors the first half of class to read over and highlight their lines, while those on the support crew were given time to go over lists of supplies and expectations. There were a _lot_ of highlighted passages in his script. It was one thing to nail an audition, and quite another to realize that he might be in over his head by taking on the actual role. But a Malfoy doesn't half-arse anything, so this would have to be do or die.

 _Well, I'm fucked_.

He looked around the classroom, wondering if anyone else was feeling the same way.

"It's a shitload of lines, isn't it?" Came a peppy voice from the desk directly beside him. Draco turned to see a short boy with a spiked, bright red faux hawk. He wore jeans wide and flared enough to pass for a skirt and a tight black mesh t-shirt with a name emblazoned across it--some muggle reference he was unfamiliar with. His ears were pierced from lobe to helix, at least six piercings in each one. It both repulsed and fascinated Draco. He was also wearing a heavy layer of kohl eye liner, which somehow suited him. "I'm playing Puck," he said by way of explanation. "We have a lot of scenes together. I'm JP."

"Oh. Right," Draco gave him a tight smile. "I'm having a bit of trouble picturing you as a fairy servant."

"I prefer sprite, actually," he said, quick on the uptake. "Goes better with this overall aesthetic. And I have the best role in the whole damn play. You'll see."

"Yeah, okay," said Draco, turning and assuming the conversation was over.

"I was a little afraid they'd give it to you because you read so well, but you're regal as fuck and I've got the whole miscreant thing down, so . . . overall not too worried."

"Regal as fuck," Draco chuckled, warming up to him a little. "Well there's one I haven't heard."

"We should practice together sometime. I don't think Faber has a clue what he's doing having us perform this in four weeks. It'll take twice as long to get half of these morons to remember their lines, let alone their cues and blocking."

Draco shrugged. My, he was a chatty little thing. His eyes skated over the boy's frame. Not little. Compact, maybe, but not slight. The cut of his shirt practically broadcasted his pectoral muscles. Muggles. Just as eccentric as wizards when it came right down to it. This would be interesting. "You seem to know a lot about theatre."

"A fair bit. Lots of drama camps as a kid. My jazz hands are top notch."

Draco nodded. Whatever that meant? He was almost too distracted to notice that Potter walked by and hovered over his desk just long enough to drop a sloppily folded note. He unfolded it.

_Football field? Per. 4?_

Draco frowned and scrawled back,

_Can't. Detention. (I know. How Slytherin of me.)_

Potter hadn't waited around for Draco's response but was already back at the front of the classroom, scribbling something on a clipboard. He was making damn sure no one noticed this correspondence. It would be too obvious to have them passing notes back and forth, so Draco performed an apparition spell on the note, causing its contents to appear on whatever paper Potter had in front of him. He saw Potter start and cast a quick glance in his direction. Then Potter's response appeared on the note.

_Fuck detention. (I know. How Gryffindor of me.)  
Nice trick by the way._

Draco sniffed, quelling a smile.

_Tricks are for children. This is first class spell work._

He heard Potter snort. His response appeared immediately.

_So are you meeting me or not?_

Draco knew he was going to meet him. Fuck detention indeed. But he decided to make Potter wait, counting to twenty before penning his response. His lips curled involuntarily when he saw Potter shift his weight and shake his leg in agitation. His eyes never left the clipboard.

 _Yes. So settle down_.

Draco turned back to his script, quite pleased with himself, when something small and hard hit him squarely on the forehead and landed on his desk. A piece of chalk. He looked up to see Potter leaning against the blackboard looking smug, his green eyes sparkling at Draco's before turning away from him to sketch something on the board. Yep, he was fucked all right.

******

Harry tapped his foot impatiently during the final twenty minutes of FACS. His teacher, Mrs. Stewart, had given him permission to work on the costumes during class as an independent project and assigned a team of three more students to help him. Together, they'd managed to find some decent quality fabric in the storage room and solidify sketches and props for most of the main roles. Overall, they would have to be much simpler than he would have liked, but he was confident they would do well enough. He hated to admit it, but Jo was right. He did enjoy this, and he was good at it. The satisfaction of planning a project and completing it by hand was strangely addictive.

There was only one problem. Malfoy's costume. It would not do to have him play the fairy king in some cheap acrylic Peter Pan get up. It needed to be spectacular. And if Oberon's costume needed to be spectacular, so would Titania's, as the fairy Queen. It would be a lot of work. But Harry Potter doesn't half-arse anything, so this would have to be do or die. _Well, I'm fucked_.

He doodled a simple sketch of Malfoy's face and torso without realizing what he was doing. The rest of his costume sketches were faceless male or female figures, but here was Malfoy's likeness, all aristocracy, looking back at him and demanding more detail. Harry added a majestic crown of twigs and foliage and a magnificent flowing cape. He paused to get the image just right in his head.

"Harry, that's amazing!" Harry jolted out of his reverie to see Jo standing over his work. He threw his arm over the sketch but it was too late.

"Just playing around," he said defensively.

"I can see _that_. I mean, I think Faber will insist he wear some kind of shirt? But otherwise you're onto something there. Have you drawn one for me?"

"No. Not yet."

"Well, get on it! I want to see!"

"Okay, you're next," he promised, hoping that would satisfy her enough to leave him alone for the rest of class. "But first I better er . . . draw him a shirt. Like I was going to."

Surely there had to be a way to keep the costume light and ethereal while still having Malfoy fully clothed. Mostly clothed. He drew an experimental V-neck tunic with a very deep V and a tapered waist. Yes, that would do nicely. _Not as nicely as before but . . .  
ho boy_. Time for a break.

He went back to his prior sketches to add finishing touches, but the image of Malfoy was a stubborn one. He wouldn't be able to focus on anything else until it was perfect. Yep, he was fucked all right.


	18. All The Roads We Have to Walk are Winding

Draco shivered and hugged himself while trying to keep a dignified posture on the bleachers facing the field. Potter would be late, because of course he would. Any trace of summer had vanished. The sky was grey and the wind carried a faint scent of snow, even in late September. So much for America being nothing but sunshine. The longer he waited the more irritated he became. Here he was freezing his arse off on some muddy godforsaken excuse for a sports pitch, waiting to do what? Help Potter gain control of his magic so he could fuck his boyfriend without consequence?

_No, waiting to help him. To save him. Because you have to, you need to, and you want to._

"Malfoy, what are you doing up there?" Potter arrived without ceremony or apology, squinting up at Draco with his hands in his pockets.

"Fishing for lake trout, Potter. What the bloody hell does it look like I'm doing?" Draco spat, indignant. "Waiting for you. You're late. Not that I would expect anything else."

"Then why were you on time, hm?" _Ever the smart ass._

"Because I am a Malfoy and I keep my appointments."

Potter shrugged and climbed the bleachers two at a time, hunkering down next to Draco. "Any particular reason you're shivering up here,  where the wind is the worst, when you could be sitting on the lowest bench with your feet on the ground?" Potter asked, hunching his own shoulders to brace himself from the cold.

"Because I have one good pair of shoes and I've no intention of having them caked in mud. Some of us have standards, Potter. Besides, I like to have a decent view of my surroundings when possible."

"Fair enough," said Potter, distractedly. "So, how are you going to help me?" 

"By getting you to perform a warming charm for starters."

"I'm not doing magic here." Potter set his mouth in a thin, determined line.

"Well, you're going to have to do it somewhere. There isn't anyone out here at this time of day, which is why you chose this place I assume." Draco heard the irritation in his own voice and took a breath. "Potter, do you really have no idea about the laws of magic? You can't just ignore who you are." He drew his wand out of his rucksack and turned it slowly in circles until he was satisfied with the invisible sphere of heat radiating between them. "You're welcome."

Potter's face relaxed and he edged in closer to Draco, but he didn't thank him. "So I don't have a choice, then? About doing magic?"

"No. You don't."

Potter's face darkened. "That doesn't make sense. Dumbledore told me--"

"Dumbledore?" Draco snarled.

"I mean, back in . . . er . . . sixth year," Potter fumbled for for words. "Dumbledore said a wizard could live as a muggle in very particular circumstances," he finished in a rush.

"Well,  you can just add that to the list of fucking idiotic things that man said," Draco saw Harry's jaw tense but he continued, "because it's not true. I'd say you have some compelling proof of that." He quirked an eyebrow.

Potter looked away. "Yes. You might say that. I regret ever telling you that." His face turned a most becoming shade of pink as he pushed his hair back from his eyes.

"Well," said Draco, keeping his voice neutral, "don't. It only showed me that you're in need of even more help than I thought. Sounds like you could have killed someone," he finished wryly, hoping to keep Potter talking.

"It wasn't _that_ bad," Potter said with a lopsided grin. "Though I suppose if we had actually had se--"

"Good gods Potter, I don't need every detail," Draco stiffened. "Although, I thought that's what hap--nevermind."

"It wasn't," he said softly, daring to look Draco in the eye. Draco's heart rioted in his chest but he said nothing. "That's not on my to-do list . . . for a while anyway." Draco kept his breath steady. _Must. Not. Care._

"It's not or he's not?" Draco couldn't believe his own boldness but he also couldn't _not_ ask that question.

"Both. I guess," said Potter, fiddling with the cuffs on his jacket. "Anyway, it doesn't only happen when that . . . sort of thing happens . . . right? The park bench was my fault, right?"

"Yes, definitely. And the rubbish bins, and a little picket fence, and even a small tree. But you didn't notice, correct?" Potter shook his head. The wind picked up and Draco held his hands a little closer to Potter's to gain more heat. Their pinky fingers brushed together for the smallest second. He shivered, but not from the cold. _Fuck_. "Potter, have you seen yourself? You're a raging force of nature when you're pissed off." There was no hiding the admiration in his voice. He'd always been attracted to power, and Potter was drenched in it, always had been.

"So, it's when I'm . . . emotional?" Potter pursed his lips, making a face.

"I suppose so. Or at least, when there's something you really want. Or don't want. To be honest, there isn't a whole lot of reliable information on what causes uncontrollable magic flare ups in adult wizards because it's incredibly rare to choose to live the way you are.  Hell, even when witches and wizards were being killed for practicing magic, they still used it to defend themselves. I don't know what made you think--"

"I'm sorry," He blurted suddenly.

Draco stopped, startled. "What did you say?"

"Draco. I'm sorry," He raised his hand to grasp Draco's shoulder. It was an awkward gesture, but that coupled with Potter using his given name was enough to make him break into a sweat. "I don't know why you're here, or why you're helping me, or how you even got here, but you must have a million questions for me too, and you haven't asked any of them. After the way I . . . left . . . I certainly don't deserve anyone's help or pity--least of all yours. But you're here. And I'm  . . . grateful. Really grateful," he finished, dropping his arm and waiting expectantly for Draco's response. 

Draco savoured the words while simultaneously panicking over what he should say. What could he say?

"I . . . I . . ." He watched Potter push his hair back. Again. _Wait, what the_ \--? "Where is your scar?" he demanded abruptly.

Potter's hand flew to his forehead in an all too familiar reflex. "Oh, that, I, erm, had it disguised. Like a glamour, but more potent. I was sick of looking at it. After everything."

"That's a shame,"said Draco, not caring how he sounded anymore. "It suited you. It was a part of you." He wanted so badly to touch the place where the scar should be, to see if he could feel it, even if he couldn't see it.

"I know," Potter sighed wearily. "I do wonder sometimes . . . if this was a mistake."

 _If? Merlin fucking IF?_ "Oh," Draco twirled his wand in the air with one finger and focused on it to keep himself in check. "Oh, you mean turning your back on everything you know . . . and everyone who cares about you . . . and pretending to be something you're not?" The wand stopped twirling and Draco raised his eyebrows at Potter. "Now, why ever would you think that was a mistake?"

"Malfoy," Potter said quietly, "Did you ever stop to think that maybe after seven years of being Harry Potter I just wanted to be Harry? See how that felt?" Draco hadn't considered it actually. But what he was describing felt intimately familiar. "Maybe have a life that _belonged_ to me instead of a life that was just . . ."

" _About_ you." Draco's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Yes." Harry breathed. His green eyes lit up with something that made Draco ache inside. "How did you . . . ?"

"Because I wanted the same thing." He slid just an inch closer. "I never thought about it that way. Until right now, when you put it so eloquently." Their knees were touching, ever so slightly. "Except my life wasn't even about _me_. It was about someone else."

"Voldemort."

"No, you git," Draco shoved Potter's knee with his in annoyance, "You."

 

***

 

Harry swallowed. "Me?" Had he heard Malfoy correctly?

"Well, fine, Voldemort too, in a roundabout way," Malfoy said matter-of-factory, " Everyone's life was about him for a while."

"Such an attention whore, right?" quipped Harry.

"Right." Malfoy laughed a full, hearty laugh, baring his teeth. Harry felt something flutter from his chest to his knees. "But that came later. No, my father had a lot of expectations for me, but the most important was that I would either ensnare you to our side or defeat you at every turn. As it happened, I failed miserably at both of those things," he said ruefully. "Would have been nice to have a life that belonged to me, too. Maybe things would have turned out . . . differently."

This whole day had turned out much differently from what Harry had expected. It was so easy talking to Malfoy like this. Like friends. How had that happened? He stole a glance at the blond boy's countenance, wondering when he'd started to really notice it. The Malfoy pallor and angularity were still there, same as always, along with the upturned nose and haughty brow. But there was a softness there too, in the wide, blonde-lashed eyes and pale pink lips. Harry loved the way his fine hair scattered across his forehead just now.

Harry's mouth was dry and his heart pounded. He felt the pull of their connection rising inside him again. He wanted to kiss Malfoy again, to call him by his name, to tell him everything, to be known by him the way no one had ever known him before. He wanted everything to be different, but the same. He wanted it so very much it felt like it was choking him. But that couldn't have been what Malfoy meant. Could it? He breathed deep and tried to think what to say, what to do. Finally, he stood up and held out his hand.

"I'm Harry," he said simply.

Malfoy blanched. "Potter, _what_ are you doing? Sit down before you die an embarrassing death." He shuffled his feet.

" _Harry_ ," he repeated, not moving. "And you know what I'm doing."

Malfoy sighed. "Oh come off it, you can't mean . . ."

"What's your name?" He insisted. He knew Malfoy would make a show of appearing to be above this admittedly stupid and cliche gesture, but he hoped it would pay off.

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy took Harry's hand and hoisted himself up to face him. Harry's breath stopped for a second at Malfoy's grasp. His fingers felt cool and slender but surprisingly strong. 

"Draco," he muttered. "Draco Malf--"

"Draco will do." Harry smiled. "Nice to meet you."

"Er, likewise," said Draco, still holding Harry's hand and turning his head to hide a smile.

"So, I kind of promised Felix I'd meet him . . ." Harry trailed off and gingerly let go.

Draco hastily shoved both hands into his pockets. ""So?"

"So, when do you think we should start . . . whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing?"

"Magic control lessons, for lack of a better term," Draco said brusquely. "Tomorrow. And not here obviously."

"Where were you thinking, then?"

Draco shifted his eyes. "I was thinking . . . the church."

Harry opened his mouth and closed it. _That_ church? It would be private at least. What had Draco said yesterday? _I can forget it if you can._ Well, Harry wasn't going to admit he couldn't.

"Okay," he said slowly.

"Okay." Draco peered at him from under his blond fringe. "Try not to destroy any property before then, yeah Harry?"

"Can't make any promises, Draco."

"Bloody Gryffindor," Draco said with something like affection.

Harry grinned like an idiot and took the bleachers three at a time on the way down.


	19. You Or Someone Like You

Draco's eyes followed Harry leaving to meet Felix, leaving a furious longing in his soul. It seemed impossible that their small encounters meant as much to Harry as they did to Draco, but they must mean something. And the handshake, well, that was over the top, but the eleven year old boy inside him was positively beaming. It wasn't enough, not nearly, but it was a start.

He expected McGonagall to approve of the step in this direction as well. The next time she came to check up on him, he was determined to have good news. If the lessons at the church were successful, Potter would be able to contain his magic, which would be safer for him, at least in the short term, but Draco's goal was loftier than that. The lessons had to be so spectatcular that Harry would remember how much he loved magic, and what that meant for his life. Then he would have to come back. He would have to. It would be a fine line for Draco to walk, especially while juggling a high school career which was admittedly more challenging than he gave it credit for, but he would do it or die trying. And maybe he would receive the reward he hardly dare to hope for.

Maybe. 

 

***

 

Felix sat in their usual spot, head down, elbows on the table, silently mouthing the words he was reading. Harry watched him from the entrance of the library, unnoticed. Buoyed by his meeting with Draco, he was suddenly brought low again at the sight of the boy who had made this world home to him so effortlessly. Part of him wanted to keep this. Part of him wondered if this was what he needed.

Whatever was happening with Draco was complicated. And quite likely unreciprocated. Being with Felix had been so simple. And Felix wanted him. It should have been easy to stay with the one who wanted him. Maybe it still could be. If only he didn't have to lie.

He walked over slowly, waiting to see when Felix would notice. It was only a few steps before the boy looked up.

"Hey," he shoved his chair back and smiled. Harry couldn't help but smile back.

"Hey. Sorry I'm late. Costume stuff," he said, claiming his usual seat beside him.

"No worries," Felix shrugged. "Jo mentioned how good your drawings are. Think I could see? You're not going to make me look like some weird pirate are you?"

Harry laughed and felt a stab of guilt when he realized he hadn't drawn anything for Felix yet. "Er, no, why would I do that?"

"Dunno. Shakespeare, puffy shirts and all that."

"So you don't want a hook for a hand? Okay. Noted."

"You sassing me, Potter?" Felix smirked with a glint in his eye. That was the second time he'd called Harry that. It sounded different from how Draco always said it. Anytime Draco said it, the syllables held venom, at least until recently. Felix said it like a shared joke. The American accent softened it, and Felix's voice even more so. Harry liked it.

"Of course not, Felix. I take these things very seriously, you know."

The awkwardness from this morning was evaporating little by little, but still there. Harry wondered if Felix felt it too. In an effort to continue the ongoing "how I feel about Felix" experiment, Harry felt for Felix's hand under the table and held it. Again, so different from Draco's. A little warmer, a little rougher, small callouses on his thumb and index fingers. And so relaxed. Felix moved his chair closer so their shoulders were touching. Harry drew some history homework out of his bag and they worked on their separate assignments in quiet, just being together. Harry could feel his pulse returning to normal, and an equilibrium settle inside him. After a moment he turned his head towards Felix, only to find that Felix had already turned his head towards him, watching him.

"Are you okay, Harry? You seem different somehow. But I don't know what it is." Felix had this way of making him feel like he was the only person in the world when he looked at him like that.

Harry stared back at him before looking down and saying "I'm okay." Liar. "Just a lot going on I guess." He hoped Felix would accept that and move on to something else. But Felix didn't work that way.

"Yeah, I get that," Felix said. "Anything in particular?"

_So many things in particular. Please don't make me lie._

"I miss my friends." Which was true. And something he had not allowed himself to feel.

Felix nodded, urging him to continue.

"And my school."

Felix nodded again. "Course you do," he said, releasing Harry's hand and bringing his arm up around Harry's shoulders.

"And sometimes I wish I'd never come here." He hadn't expected that to come out. He hadn't wanted it to come out that way at all. But to his surprise, Felix didn't take offense.

"I thought maybe that was it," Felix said quietly.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed in and out, because he would not break down.

"Listen," Felix circled his fingertips between Harry's shoulder blades. "I don't know much about your situation. And you don't have to tell me. But even the facts that I do have--that you're a foster kid who's recently jumped continents--is enough for me to know you've gone through some fucked up shit."

A strangled laugh escaped Harry. "Yeah. It was pretty fucked up."

"But even when things are fucked up, there are people who matter to you." His fingers moved up to Harry's neck and softly through the black curls.

"Yeah." Harry blinked twice. Fuck it. "We went through a lot together."

"And you don't want to forget them."

"No." Deep breath. "Sometimes it feels like I am. Sometimes it feels like I'm forgetting myself."

"Shit, Harry. You're really . . ."

"Messed up?"

"I was going to say working through some shit."

"Yeah," he said gratefully. "Just don't . . . go treating me like I'm injured, okay? I kind of hate that."

Felix frowned a little. "Why? That's how I treat everyone, if I can help it. We're all injured. The world's a fucked up place." He said it with such conviction that Harry had no reason to doubt him. He would do anything to prove him wrong. He dreaded the day when he would do just the opposite.

"You're kind of amazing," said Harry, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. "Do you just walk through the halls giving away free hugs or what?" _Would have been a Hufflepuff for sure. They were always underrated._

"Ha." Felix tightened his arm around Harry. "Only on Wednesdays. But I'll make an exception since it's you."

Harry turned into Felix's chest and slipped his arms around his waist. It didn't solve anything, but it was wonderful all the same.

 

***

 

"Late, Mr. Malloy. You'll have to serve an extra half class detention on another day."

Draco nodded his acknowledgement and hooked the chair back with his toe, slumping into it. He dropped his rucksack onto the table and glared through the gaps between the books to where Harry and Felix were sitting. The detention room was a glassed in study area in the corner of the library. Draco was quite sure they wouldn't notice him there, but he sure as hell noticed them.

"Late, Mr. Rishea. Same deal for you."

"Thanks Miss. Love the heels. Hey Drake." JP sprawled out across from him.

Draco tore his gaze away for a second. "Pink becomes you," he said idly, briefly taking in the full spectacle of JP's latest ensemble: tight pink t-shirt, jeans ripped nearly to shreds, and a spiked collar around his neck.

"Yeah, you think? It's not too much?"

"Aren't you the definition of too much?" Draco sighed, already back to his prior occupation.

"Touché," said JP, following his gaze. "Fuck though. If looks could kill. You look about as thrilled with that as I am."

"With what?" said Draco, not realizing he was still staring.

"Come on, man. _Them_." JP twisted his thumbs and index fingers into a rectangle to frame Harry and Felix and clicked his tongue.

"What? You have a problem with two boys together?" Draco kept his expression neutral.

"Really. Have you seen me?" JP deadpanned. "I practically shit rainbows."

"I beg your pardon?" Draco guffawed.

"I mean, if I had a problem with two boys together I'd have a problem with myself. Obviously," the boy inspected his black painted fingernails.

Draco raised his eyebrows. It wasn't a shocking revelation but it was interesting enough. He paused for a second glance at JP before speaking. "Dressing like that doesn't make you gay. I've seen more eccentric attire on straight men." In the wizarding world, dress codes were a little more fluid.

"True," he mused, "the femme punk boy look isn't a sure thing, but there's also my winning personality." He flashed a toothy grin.

Draco shrugged. "These things aren't as obvious where I'm from."

"And where's that?" JP asked brightly, not missing a beat.

Draco ignored the question, wishing he could ignore this conversation entirely but that seemed to be impossible. "So what is it then? What don't you like about it?"

JP threw him a smirk. "Same thing you don't. I don't want them together because one of them should be with me."

Draco didn't say a word, not wanting to give himself away. His misery did not care for company at the moment.

"Okay, don't admit it then. Fuck if I care," JP kicked his feet up on the table and threw his hands behind his head. "Just keep shooting those daggers and I'm sure things will work out."

"Mr. Rishea, feet down."

"Of course, Miss. Nice cardigan." He swung his feet back down without a fuss and rifled a sheaf of paper from his bag. He nudged Draco's foot with his. "Wanna run lines?"

 _Oh, for the love of Merlin_. "Not particularly," Draco muttered.

"Oh right. You're busy moping," JP tsked with feigned sympathy.

 _Bloody hell_. "For fuck's sake, if I read a scene with you, will it shut you up?"

JP laughed. It wasn't an unpleasant sound. "'Fraid not. Nothing shuts me up."

"I'll think of something," Draco said, his defenses wearing thin and sounding more suggestive than he intended. He saw JP's eyes widen. Fine. "All right. Act two, scene one."

They read through the scene together, which was more fun than reading it alone, he had to admit, and very effective for memorization. JP was a natural, especially for this part--the mischievous sprite who does Oberon's bidding and plays with the love affairs of mortals. It required a lot energy, something he had in droves.

"Nice!" JP punched the air after they finished. "Totally nailed it."

"It was decent," Draco allowed. "You're very good." He saw Harry adjust his position in Felix's arms and felt his whole body tighten.

"Thank you." JP gave an exaggerated bow. "So are you. I've seen this play a couple times, once in New York. They did an amazing interpretation of this scene . . ." JP swiped two fingers across Draco's jaw when he saw he'd lost his attention, forcing him to look back in his direction. "So very tragic, that." He ignored Draco's glare. "Anyway, as I was saying. In the version I saw in New York, as Oberon dismisses Puck, he just lays one on him."

Draco cleared his throat. He couldn't mean? "Lays one on him like . . ."

JP shot a glance over his shoulder at the detention monitor, who was just leaving the room to reshelve her harlequin romance. He hopped up on the table and slid across to Draco.

"Like this," he said breezily, and grabbed Draco by his collar. He locked eyes with him for one moment before covering Draco's mouth with his and pushing him backwards into his chair, biting Draco's lip before releasing him. He pulled back, cocking an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest in triumph. Draco felt electricity coursing through his veins. JP was talking again, because of course he was. "Except with tongue. And the other way around. You kissing me, that is, since you're Oberon. Anyway, maybe next time." He made a move to get up, but Draco would be damned if he was to be the passive receiver of an unexpected kiss twice in as many days. This was happening now.

Draco straightened his chair and his shirt before standing and yanking JP to his feet by his wrists. "So like this, then?" JP held his smirk, daring him on. Draco cupped one hand at base of JP's neck and the other on his arse, dipping him halfway to the floor while owning his lips and tonguing the roof of his mouth. He pushed him back onto the table and stepped back, hands on hips. "Well?"

"Damn."

"Fuck."

"Even better."

"Think Faber will let us do that?"

"I don't see how he can stop us in front of a live audience." 

"It'll make the scene."

"I agree."

Draco thought of Harry in Felix's arms again, and it dawned on him just what JP must have been doing. "Think they saw us?"

"Hope so," JP sing-songed.

"So we're aligned in that then?" Draco pursed his lips in admiration.

"Absolutely. Can't hurt to have a little fun in the meantime, can it?"

"No, not at all."

JP would have made a very good Slytherin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that was a fun read, even though it's not what we *really* want. Also: the Puck/Oberon kiss thing is real and awesome. I've posted photos from the 2013 Globe production on my tumblr (same username as here), which is the best reference to it that I've seen online. It's not referenced in the script, but the subtext has always been there and directors choose to play with it or ignore it. Do yourself a favour and check it out.  


	20. Everything Inside of You (That You Wish You Could Be)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: homophobic language

The church was cold. Harry remembered it being warm the last time. He remembered Draco's pale, shivering silhouette against the deep hues and hallowed shrines, the way his hands hung at his sides, defeated, and his breath still catching. He remembered the feel of that fuzzy line in his brain, the line between wanting to have someone and wanting to save them, and couldn't he do both? Why did he always have to do both?

"I see you still won't bother with a warming charm, then?" Draco's voice echoed behind him, sounding strange. Almost chipper.

Harry turned and shrugged, trying to appear just as unaffected by their choice of location. "Didn't want to risk blowing anything up before you got here."

"Fair point, Potter."

"I thought we were past the surnames?"

"Old habits." Draco cupped his hands and blew into them. "And that was your proposition. Technically I never agreed."

"All right then," said Harry wearily. "Call me what you like."

Draco faltered momentarily at that. "Hm. Right. You've got your wand then?"

This was the moment Harry had been dreading. He shuffled closer to Draco. "Well . . . technically . . . I've got yours." He pulled the ten inch hawthorn wand from the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt, which felt altogether wrong and unceremonial. He met Draco's eye. "I didn't know it was yours when I took it. And I wouldn't have kept it except that mine was broken. I wouldn't even have known but for--"

"Ollivander," said Draco, his voice distant. "I remember."

"I could give it back," said Harry hastily. "We could trade?" He eyed the rather dull looking wand in Draco's hand and felt a pang of shame that the illustrious Draco Malfoy had to use something so common.

Draco looked as though he was considering it but then took a step back. "No. Wands don't work that way."

Harry remembered what Olivander had said about the wand's shift in allegiance. He suspected Draco knew too. "Well, if you're sure," said Harry.

Draco waved his hand. "Regardless, Harry, we both know that wand didn't do a knut of good in my hand when I had it. It's better off in yours." Warmth rose in Harry's chest at the sound of Draco saying his name and the graciousness of his response. It set his mood a little lighter.

"I always underestimated you, Draco," he said sincerely.

"Tell me about it," Draco muttered, and ran his fingers through his hair. Harry watched, lips parted before regaining his senses.

"So, remind me about this warming spell? Could we sit down?" He nodded to the bank of pews on his left.

"Fine." Draco slid in just far enough for Harry to have to either sit close beside him or brush past him to sit on his other side. Harry wavered briefly before wedging in beside him, close enough to smell the muggle detergent on his clothes. Draco didn't budge. "I have to say, I never thought I would see the day that I would be teaching Harry Potter how to properly cast a charm covered in first year." He stretched his arm across the empty side of the pew, causing his back to straighten and his chest to arch in the most appealing way.

"I _know_ how to do it," Harry said hotly, not quite successful at keeping his eyes where they should be, "I just figured I should start with something very simple, if all this stuff you say about my magic is true."

"Latent magic is full of surprises," Draco said suggestively. Harry flushed and said nothing. "So. As a reminder, oh great one, you simply turn your wand in a clockwise circle, and say the incantation, which is--"

" _Focillo_. I remember," said Harry.

"Yes. And you concentrate on--"

"The object you mean to warm up," Harry finished again. He was eager to do this right. He turned Draco's old wand in slow, steady circles and spoke the incantation.

Draco hands immediately flew to his chest. "Fucking _hell_ ," he gasped. "Are you trying to burn my shirt off?"

"Oh! Shit!" Harry waved his other hand frantically. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize . . ."

"That you were concentrating on _me_ , you idiot?" Draco spluttered, his cheeks red and sweat dotting his brow. He looked a mess. A beautiful, furious mess. Harry put a hand over his mouth and turned away.

"Potter, if you're laughing I swear to gods," Draco warned, but his lips curved upwards and betrayed something else.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Draco," said Harry, catching his breath just in time. "I suppose there must be easier ways to get your shirt off," he quipped with a sidelong glace, before losing his nerve.

Draco was not in the mood. "You have a boyfriend for that, don't you?" He huffed.

"Fuck, it was just a joke. And his name's Felix," said Harry evenly.

"I know his name. It's just not important to me." Draco crossed his arms over his hips and lifted the hem of his sweater over his head, leaving just his white collar button up underneath as he peeled the wool sleeves away and tossed the sweater on the back of the pew in front of him.

Harry struggled to defend Felix while _not_ watching how the sinews of Draco's arms flexed when he was tense, which was obvious even beneath a layer of crisp, white cotton. "Well he's important to me."

"You have my heartiest congratulations," Draco snapped. "Can we get on with this? You know, for the sake of your love life and all."

"Yes," said Harry, feeling small and hating himself for it. "Let's try a different spell."

Draco just nodded.

They worked together the rest of the period, cutting out the banter Harry had just started to enjoy and staying focussed on the task at hand. Without the distraction of keeping up his wits, Harry was able to make satisfying progress. He was beginning to love the feel of this new wand--its lighter weight and pliability allowed for subtle movements his old holly and phoenix wand had not. It was like he found something he'd never known he was missing. "This is a brilliant wand, Draco," Harry said after levitating a row of ten candles in succession and not burning a single one.

"I know." Draco paused.  "You . . . use it well, I must say," he said grudgingly. "Have you missed it?"

"Your wand?" Harry asked innocently.

"Don't be smart, Potter. You know what I mean. Magic."

Harry knew the answer, and it troubled him. "Yes," he sighed at the weight of the admission. "More than I ever thought I would." He watched Draco conjure a simple bird from a piece of tattered sheet music and grinned like an idiot as it fluttered throughout the sanctuary. It reminded him of something he couldn't quite place. After a moment he felt Draco's eyes resting on him. "What?"

"You," Draco shook his head. "Smiling like a muggle child at the simplest spells. Never lost your sense of wonder at all of this did you?"

"I guess not," Harry blushed. He remembered how wonderful the world of magic seemed when he first came to Hogwarts. A few short months ago he'd been ready to trade it all away. Now he wasn't so sure. But then, the things that he loved most about his life at Hogwarts had little to do with magic in the end. They were things available in that world and this one. "Y'know, muggle life has magic too," he said with more conviction than he felt at the moment.

Draco snorted. "We may be on the same side now, _Harry_ , but forgive me for not waxing poetic about the magic of friendship and love conquering all. I'll leave that to Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs." He stretched out on the pew now, one hand behind his head and the other lazily directing the paper bird with his wand. "Besides, that's not the point. As a wizard, you don't have to choose. You get both kinds of magic. The real kind, and whatever fluff your lot goes starry eyed for."

"Oh trust me, they're both real," Harry countered. "You ought to try the other sometime." He recalled the fleeting moment he'd witnessed from across the library yesterday. He hadn't been sure, but he thought he'd caught a glimpse of Draco and a muggle doing something more than talking. And a muggle _boy_ at that. He'd been determined not to let it dominate his thoughts, especially since he wanted to fix things with Felix, but the image was too delicious to abandon completely.

"What makes you think I haven't?" Draco asked casually, still focusing on the bird.

"All right then, have you?" Harry asked, a little too loud and a little too quickly.

Draco smiled a knowing smile and furrowed his brow. "Have I what? I do wish you'd be more clear, Potter."

Harry had never wanted to throw his fist at him and kiss him so much at the same time. "Fuck, Malfoy, I don't know. Dated? Been in love? Snogged someone?" He also wanted to punch himself for being so bloody obvious but that wouldn't help matters much.

"Temper, temper. My surname, even. How disappointing. To answer your questions: Yes. No. Maybe. But not necessarily in that order. Does that suit?"

"Never mind," Harry rolled his eyes. "I think class is almost over."

"Do hurry then," said Draco, seemingly unconcerned.

Harry allowed himself one last look at Draco lounging on a church pew like a cat in the sun before swinging the heavy doors open.

It would be nice to have a normal class with Felix after this, even if it was American History. He didn't have long to contemplate it however, before all his senses were bombarded by the scene just outside the school. It was a fight, and from the looks of it, not a fair one. Two against one, and the one was sorely losing, already on the ground. Harry raced towards the scene before he know what he was doing, ready to help in whatever way he thought of first, though he knew he was terrible at any kind of hand-to-hand combat. He was ready to shout for help when he suddenly recognized the boy on the ground. His heart dropped to his feet and the air left his lungs. Felix.

***

Draco was about to congratulate himself on his small victories when he heard the unmistakable sound of Harry screaming outside. He jumped to his feet and bolted out to see Harry kneeling on the pavement next to a bloodied Felix, while two hulking boys shouted insults at them both. He gathered from their mannerisms what kind of insults they were shouting. Harry's eyes were fierce and protective, but Draco could see the fear and hesitation behind them. Harry only knew how to defend himself one way, and he couldn't do it now.

Draco, fortunately or unfortunately depending on how one looked at it, had been taught to fight in every way imaginable. No trick was beneath the Malfoys when it came to winning, and he knew every one in the book. He stormed into the pair with every ounce of rage he'd ever owned, knocking their heads together and kicking them down onto their backs. "Apologize, you worthless shits," he hissed.

"I'm sorry," said one thickly to Draco through a rapidly swelling lip.

"No, asshole, to _him_ ," Draco nodded in Felix's direction.

"I don't apologize to faggots," he drawled, and it made Draco's stomach turn.

"Like hell you don't." He circled behind them. "Get on your fucking knees or you'll be apologizing to your own asses for weeks after this."

But before he had a chance to keep his word, Faber came rushing onto the scene.

"Drake, what the hell is going on here?"

Draco had to admit, it looked bad. Four boys on the ground and him standing above them with blood on his hands. "I can explain," he said calmly.

Harry spoke. "So can I. Drake was defending us from them. They ganged up on Felix." He motioned to the boy, silent but still breathing on the ground.

"Good God," Faber's face went pale. "Don't move him. I'll go call his parents. Dylan and Jared, with me to the office _now_." The two boys trailed behind him, leaving Draco shaking with the rage he hadn't had a chance to spend, and Harry holding Felix, his skin ashen. The expression on Harry's face was more than Draco could stand. Suddenly he remembered something. He reached into his rucksack and pulled out a tiny vial, then wordlessly handed it to Harry.

Harry took it. "Is this--"

Draco nodded. "Get as much into him as you can."

Harry wasted no time. He gently titled Felix's head back and pulled his mouth open with the pad of his finger. Then he tipped the vial in and held his breath. Already, Felix looked better, and breathed deeper.

"Thank you, Draco," he said softly.

"Of course," was all he could manage.

"I thought he wasn't important to you," said Harry, half accusing, half questioning.

It hurt, to have Harry think so little of him, to have Harry assume he wouldn't step into something like this unless he personally had something at stake. And yet, Harry wasn't completely wrong, so Draco gave him an honest response, if not a thorough one.

"No. But he's important to you."


	21. Counting the Lines on My Face

Draco stayed just long enough to see the boy start to regain consciousness before saying to Harry, "Let me know if you need anything else." Harry nodded without looking up, busy tending to Felix's wounds. Draco had no desire to witness a reunion between the Chosen One and his beloved, so he walked back into school quickly. He made it halfway to his locker, only to be accosted by JP in the hallway.

JP pinned him to the wall with a surprising amount of force. "Is he okay?" He demanded, "Did you help him?"

"What--" He'd hardly had a chance to register the question.

"I said did you help him! Is Felix okay?" JP's voice cracked as he swept a hand across the back of his neck. "Tell me you helped him."

Draco was tempted to make a smart remark about JP's eyeliner smudging but something about his question unsettled and distracted him. "I . . . yes," he said slowly. "I would have kicked that kid Dylan's ass if Faber hadn't got there, but Felix was already pretty messed up by then. I did what I could."

"No," JP shook his head frantically. "I mean after. Did you help him?"

Draco tried to make sense of what he was hearing, if JP was asking what he thought he was asking. How would he have known about the vial? Or about Draco's capabilities? JP was still glaring at him, waiting for an answer.

"C'mon," Draco jerked his head to an empty classroom. "Let's talk in there."

JP followed him in. 

Draco slammed the door. "You mind telling me what the fuck you mean?" He saw the edge of fear creep over JP's features before disappearing again. For a moment neither of them spoke.

The smaller boy leaned back on the edge of the desk behind him. "I know what you are. And your friend too. I don't pretend to have a fucking clue what you're doing here messing around with us, but I know the rest."

Draco steadied himself, telling himself JP couldn't mean what he thought he meant. "And what is that?"

JP's eyes darkened. "You're wizards."

 _Fuck_. "How did you--" JP couldn't be a wizard himself. He would have been an Ilvermorny by now. There shouldn't be any wizards in this school. So how could he know?

JP cut him off again, shoving him in the chest. "So tell me you did something for Felix. I heard he was unconscious--I will kill those fucking bastards--you could help him right?"

Draco gave an almost imperceptible nod. "Phoenix tears."

"Oh, thank God," JP sighed. "Overkill, maybe, but it'll get the job done."

Draco waited for JP to say something else, some sort of explanation for everything he'd just revealed, but nothing came. He regained his easy posture and mischievous smirk. "I need a drink. Blow off fifth period with me?" He swung open his jacket to reveal the glint of a silver flask. "It ain't magic but it takes the edge off. C'mon, my house isn't far." This day was going to be a write-off anyway, at least until Draco got some idea what the hell was going on, so he agreed.

JP lit a cigarette the moment they were outside, dragging on it hard before offering it to Draco.

He shook his head. "That's repulsive."

"Says the guy with death eater tat," JP quipped, taking another drag and blowing it out the side of his mouth. "Pot, cauldron, no?"

Draco felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He didn't answer; they walked in silence.

"This is it." JP stopped in front of a towering house with a perfectly manicured lawn and a shiny Benz in the driveway. Draco trailed behind him as he approached the door and pulled a set of keys from his pocket. He turned the key to reveal a sprawling front hall leading to an immaculate sitting room, tastefully decorated and full of natural light. He fell back onto a white leather couch, looking completely out of place in his tattered black jeans and cherry spiked hair. Swiping the flask from his pocket, he chugged half of its contents before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and exhaling sharply. "You want some? Or is whiskey repulsive too?"

Draco hesitated. There was some appeal to the idea, but it would better if he kept his wits about him. "Answers first, if you don't mind."

"Suit yourself." He gave the flask another pull. "Ask away. Though I must admit I took you for the sort who could figure these things out for yourself. Slytherins are supposed to be cunning, aren't they? If you think about it for more than half a second you'll figure it out."

But it was difficult to think about anything without panicking. This could really fuck things up.

"Oh, come on," JP whined. "Who are the only people who know about magic but can't use it? Hm? You purebloods have quite an ugly word for it, even though there are some of us among you." He wasn't smiling.

Of course. It all made sense now. "You're a squib."

"Ah, there's a good lad," JP said in a mocking fatherly tone. "And we prefer magically challenged," he added flatly. Draco couldn't tell if he was kidding. It was an ugly word, now that he thought about it. His own father had pronounced it a fate worse than death, and spoke of squibs as though they had somehow brought the fate upon themselves. He wondered what JP's parents were like. "How's that for life handing you lemons, huh?" JP declared bitterly. "A gay squib. Somebody up there hates me." He downed the rest of the flask and coughed. A lot of how JP presented himself made sense to Draco now. Every inch of him screamed of some pitiful rebellion, but until now Draco hadn't been able to figure out just what it was he was rebelling against. If he was honest with himself, he simply hadn't cared enough to think about it. 

"Well, it looks as though you've got money in your favour," Draco offered, taking in their impressive surroundings. It was stupid but he didn't know what else to say.

JP rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, and thank God for that. At least my parents had the money to send me away to live in a mansion in the middle of America's butt crack while they stayed in Boston with my brother. The chandeliers make lovely company." He threw the empty flask across the room where it hit a window, cracking the glass and startling Draco. "Fix that for me, would you?"

"Are you serious?" Draco glowered.

"Yeah, I'm serious. It's easy enough, isn't it? For an accomplished wizard like you? Bet you could do it without even looking." JP straightened up and picked up an imaginary wand. He furrowed his brows dramatically and thundered "Reparo!" Nothing happened, of course.

"You know some spells then?" Draco asked curiously.

"Fuck yeah, I do. We studied them since we could talk, without wands of course. A lot of good it did me," he muttered. "C'mon, let's get some food if you won't fix my window." He hopped to his feet and meandered down the hall to a massive kitchen. Draco followed him, still deciding if he should just fix the stupid thing, but he'd always hated being told what to do. JP kept talking as he opened one of the many cupboards and brought out some bowls.  "Y'know, everyone pegged me for the magical prodigy. My brother is clumsy and forgetful and an overall asshat. When only one letter from Ilvermorny came with his name on it, everyone thought it was mix up. But nope! Plot twist!" He yanked the fridge door and pulled out a carton of milk.

Draco mulled it over, confused. "Why would you both be expecting your first letter? Are you--"

"Twins. Yeah. Icing on the fucking cake." JP opened the pantry, took out an armload of cereal boxes and dropped them on the counter.

"Identical?" Draco had heard it was possible, but everything he'd been taught about bloodlines had caused him to discount it as a real possibility.

"In every way but one," JP flicked his hand as if to show how useless it was.   

"Shit." He couldn't help but feel sorry for him, and shuddered to think how his own life would have been in such circumstances. 

"Yeah. Are you having some?" JP tapped a cereal box. "Or are you going to conjure yourself a steak or something?"

"Hilarious," he replied drily. "Personally I don't see the appeal of dousing a bunch of cardboard sugar in milk, but I'll be a sport."

"Thank you for your condescension," JP nudged a bowl and spoon towards him. "It grows on you. I recommend the Lucky Charms. They go especially well with vodka. Ask me how I know." He pulled a padded bar stool out from under the lip of the counter and slid onto it.

 _Fuck, this kid's a train wreck_ , Draco couldn't help thinking. "You just live here by yourself and do what you want? Don't you need some sort of adult guardian or something?" He pulled a stool out for himself and eyed the cereal boxes suspiciously. JP was already crunching away. 

"Technically," he said between bites, "I have a nanny. Just comes around once in a while for appearances sake. Otherwise I'm on my own."

"You've been on your own since you were _eleven_?" Draco demanded incredulously. He poured the Lucky Charms into his bowl and wrinkled his nose at the cloud of sugar dust crumbs that spilled out of the near empty box. "I can't decide if I pity you or envy you for that."

"Oh, there's room for both," JP said ruefully. "I wasn't completely alone. I had Felix and Jo." His expression softened. "It was great for a while."

"You guys were friends?" Draco asked quietly, sensing this was a tender subject.

JP took a deep breath. "I showed up here with nobody, pretty much rejected by my whole family. I didn't know anyone. I was miserable. Just found out I had no magic and I was beginning to realize there was something else fucked up with me too. Just hadn't quite named it." He paused to look longingly at an ornate glass cabinet on the wall opposite them. 

Draco saw it was filled with bottles and bottles of all kinds of alcohol. Well, he would need some stronger sustenance for what promised to be a long, sad story. He lifted his wand. " _Accio vodka_ ," he interrupted. The doors opened and a clear bottle floated delicately through the air, accompanied by two glasses. 

JP raised his eyebrows and smiled gratefully. "Classy. Anyway," he continued while unscrewing the cap, "Felix was the first person to talk to me. You might have noticed he's got a thing for saving people."

"Fucking hell," Draco groaned, "he and Potter and perfect for each other," He poured himself a generous glass, took a sip and coughed. "This is terrible by the way. Like," he coughed again, "really fucking awful."

JP took Draco's untouched bowl of lucky charms and tipped half of it into Draco's glass, then the other half into his own. "I wasn't kidding. Breakfast of champions. Trust me on this." He took a sip and continued. "Felix introduced me to Jo. We were this adorable little trio of preteen badasses. I had a mad crush on Felix--"

" _Had_?" Draco couldn't resist interjecting.

"Shut up and drink. I'm telling a story. So yeah, I had a crush on him. But we were still just kids so it didn't matter much for a while. I didn't know he had a crush on me too, until we were assigned this project together at school during freshman year, and Jo had a different partner. We worked on it here, by ourselves. He had his own issues at home and preferred this place." JP stopped and stirred his drink, which was looking more disgusting by the minute as the marshmallows and cereal pieces disintegrated into the alcohol.

"And then?" Draco leaned forward, annoyed at how invested he was in this story.

"And then he kissed me," JP said simply. "We were on the floor, arranging these stupid magazine photos onto poster board for our project, and we bumped heads, and then he just kissed me." His eyes glazed over momentarily.

"And then you were . . . boyfriends?" Draco asked.

"Not exactly," JP said. "I wanted to be, but Felix comes from a super conservative background . . . and he said he liked girls too. He didn't want to 'label' us or whatever."

"I'm guessing you didn't take that well. . ."

"Ha . . ." JP shook his head slowly, his lips forming a sad little smile. "A bit of an understatement, that." He slapped the counter. "Please drink with me. I'm starting to feel all pathetic and lonely."

"Fine. Only because you're pathetic and lonely." Draco grudgingly took the tiniest sip from the rainbow concoction in front of him. "Fuck me, that's delicious," he laughed, and took a large swig. "I will deny it to the death outside these walls, but that tastes like magic."

"Magically delicious," chimed Felix.

"Back to your story," prodded Draco, feeling warm and giddy as the alcohol buzzed through him.

"Long story short, I outed him. I showed up at his door with roses--"

"You _didn't_. You fucking idiot." Draco cringed.

"I did. And I was fourteen. Care to be held accountable for everything you did at fourteen?"

"Fair point." Draco finished off his drink and mixed himself another.

"You have to remember, I had no one. So I latched onto Felix for dear life when I found out he liked me back. Everyone else has this balance to their life, you know? Family, responsibilities, all that. All I had was Felix."

"And you fucked that up."

"Of course I did. His dad answered the door. I should have just shut it and run away at that point but, you know, fourteen year old idiot and all that. I asked for Felix, thinking it was this grand romantic gesture. It didn't go well." He lit another cigarette. "And that's where our story ends."

"What--that's it? He never forgave you?" Draco frowned. "Some friend."

"He was fourteen too," JP said defensively. "And going through some shit, as I mentioned."

"Still," Draco shrugged. He could feel his brain clouding over quickly. Apparently vodka was a good deal stronger than fire whiskey. He made a move to get up and found himself on the floor.

"Shit, you're wasted," JP observed.

"Yes well . . . Scuse me for not drinking since I was eleven . . ." Draco slurred.

"Hey, I was at _least_ twelve before I started drinking. World of difference. Very responsible," JP retorted, keeping the cigarette in his lips as he helped Draco to his feet. "C'mon, couch."

"JP--" Draco began, feeling a sudden candidness come over him, "I like you. You're aaaaaall right."

"Oh, here we go," JP sighed, amused. "You're a sloppy drunk, aren't you? I had no idea you'd be such a lightweight." He shuffled Draco back to the living room.

"Nah . . . Mean it. You're nice. And decently arrack--attractive. For a squ---non magicky . . . person." Draco finished, flopping down on the couch and turning onto his side.

JP said something else before tossing him a blanket, but his voice was muddled now, and far away. The room was spinning, but not in a way a wizard might be used to. Draco felt like he was going to be sick, but for some reason words kept coming out of his mouth. "Yeah, I like you. But I love Harry Potter. I love Harry Potter SO MUCH." The room spun faster. He groaned and held his stomach. "'Gonagall's . . . gonna kill me for this . ." he mumbled before curling up and falling asleep.

 


	22. Breathe Out (So I Can Breathe You In)

"Aaaagh my head," Draco moaned when he woke up. Then, "Fuck! What time is it? How long have I been here?" He looked out the window, noting it was still broken. The world outside was grey, and getting lighter, not darker. "Shit. Shit shit shit . . .  Did I sleep here?" JP was still waking up on the easy chair opposite him.

"Morning, sunshine," he yawned. "You've got mail." He chucked Draco a scroll.

"Shit."

"An owl brought it last night. You were out cold." He stretched, bringing his elbow back behind his head with his palm. "I forgot about those charming little magic customs that make no sense. You guys should have been emailing ten years ago at least." He stood up and headed for the kitchen.

Draco ignored him. He untied the scroll, and his suspicions were confirmed.

_Mr. Malfoy,_

_This is unacceptable. Due to your failure to return to your school and your foster home last night, aurors were required to put themselves at great risk to perform memory charms on your teachers and your guardians. If they had not done so, you would have been removed from muggle care and this task. It is imperative that this does not happen again. Go directly to school from this location, and return promptly home at the end of the school day. Do not allow anything like this to happen again. I hope I do not need to remind you of the consequences._

_\--Headmistress Minerva McGonagall_

Draco crumpled up the scroll and aimed his wand. " _Incendio_." He brushed the ashes off the sofa.

"Gesundheit," JP called. He reappeared with a tray.

"If there are rainbow marshmallows or any kind of spirited drink on that tray I will vomit all over your carpet," Draco warned.

"Been there, done that." JP pointed to a lime green spot on the floor beside the couch. "I hope you have cleaning spells in your arsenal. And no, this is just toast, water and Tylenol." He set it down on the coffee table in front of Draco. "You were in rough shape."

"Ugh, I still am," admitted Draco, taking a sip of water. "And unfortunately I'm bollocks at cleaning spells. We had house elves for that."

"How archaic," JP rolled his eyes. "Then you might want to borrow some clothes," he said slyly. Draco looked down at the state of himself, a trail of sick all the way down his shirt and the right leg of his jeans.

"Oh, fuck, I'm disgusting," he said, panicked. "And I can't go home to change."

"Hence the clothes borrowing." Shit, Draco could see where this was going.

"You don't have any normal clothes, do you?" Draco sighed.

"I think you know the answer to that," JP said with mock sympathy. "I'm going to enjoy this a little too much."

Twenty minutes later, Draco was showered and outfitted in JP's finest muggle wear: black leather trousers with a studded belt (the only pants JP owned that were not flared or ripped to shreds), a long sleeved black mesh tee, layered with a frayed acid wash denim vest. He studied himself in the full length mirror in the hallway. It wasn't terrible. He saw JP behind him in the mirror, squinting at him, half frowning.

"Why are you looking at me like that? That's how my mother looks when my robes are wrinkled."

"Well," JP clucked, "It just doesn't quite _work_."

"Meaning. . .?" Draco said impatiently.

"Meaning, you don't do this look half-assed. You have to go all the way."

"I'm not styling my hair like some lost clownfish if that's what you're getting at," Draco said, gesturing to JP's hair.

"No . . . " JP mused, still squinting. "But maybe just spike it a little? Please?"

"And make-up too I suppose?" Draco whined. Truthfully, he was curious about how some of that dark liner would look against his otherwise pale features.

"I thought you'd never ask," JP replied with enthusiasm, and went back to the bathroom for supplies. "Who knows?" He teased, setting out some hair gel and brushes, "Maybe it'll get Potter to forget Felix for more than a few seconds. It would be a small sacrifice to get some attention from the guy you love so much, right?" He shot Draco a wicked smile and licked the tip of an eyeliner pencil.

Draco felt his cheeks grow hot. "The guy I--hold on, I never said anything--"

"Fuck yeah, you did. Hold still." He rested the heel of his palm on Draco's cheek and started drawing a line below his lashes. It was strangely intimate, having JP this close and so concentrated on him. "A few times. And if I have to hear any more about how perfect his ass looks while riding a broom . . . I mean, that was just awkward, even for me. Couldn't get you to shut up," he said, tsking and shaking his head. "Well, until you threw up all over my living room. Then you just cuddled a pillow and fell asleep."

It was past the point of embarrassment now. Well, Potter's arse _did_ look unfairly fit on a broom . . . He just couldn't believe he would ever say that out loud. Had it been vodka or veritaserum in that bottle? He kept his face still and expressionless.

"I have to say, I don't see it," JP continued, now working on Draco's other eye. "Cute face and all, but isn't he a little on the scrawny side?" Draco just grunted. That was some way to talk about the Chosen One. JP couldn't have known who Potter was. Was he even aware of the war they just came through? JP sat back to survey his work and gave a quick nod. He squirted some gel onto his palm and rubbed his hands together. Then he ran his fingers through Draco's hair roughly. They snagged a little and Draco winced. "Now, now, almost done." He took the hair in sections and twirled them upwards, adding more gel. Draco closed his eyes. The twirling sensation on his scalp, combined with thoughts of Harry on a broom and JP's face still so close to his, was downright tantalizing.

"Hey, JP?"

"Yeah?" JP was finally looking at him as a person again, instead of a project.

"Should we maybe practice that scene again?"

JP laughed a short laugh through his nose and stood up. "Take a look at yourself first." He dragged Draco back to the full length mirror by his wrist. "All done."

It was like another person staring back at him, but not an unattractive one. There was some appeal to the whole punk goth package or whatever this was supposed to be. It encapsulated the "fuck you and the horse you rode in under" vibe that he'd always wanted to project but could never quite grasp, being a Malfoy. "What do you think?" He asked JP, who standing behind him with a satisfied grin.

JP let out a low whistle as he circled around him. "I think _you_ done up like _that_ is enough to make a good dog break his leash," he said, turning to face Draco and sliding his fingers up to his throat. "Act two, scene one?"

"Hell yeah."

***

Harry stood outside Felix's house, feeling the sunrise warm on his neck despite the cooler temperatures. He stepped back and observed the house in daylight for the first time. It was humble; the paint was peeling and the wooden front stoop worn so that there was a smooth rut in front of the door. It occured to him that Felix never suggested they study or hang out here. Was that odd? He knocked tentatively at the door and heard muffled voices inside. "Got it, Dad!" Felix shouted. The door creaked open and slammed shut in an instant.

Felix looked much better than yesterday, almost too good to avoid suspicion, but Harry would take it. The cuts around his lips were only hair-thin scars now, and the swelling around his eyes had gone down, appearing as faint grey circles, barely visible on his dark complexion. Harry reached for his hand instinctively, but Felix ignored it. Or maybe he didn't see it? Something was off.

"Better go, we'll be late," was all he said, and started walking. He looked straight ahead, save for the occasional glance over his shoulder, as if he were afraid someone was watching them. They rounded a corner and immediately his stride slowed. He hooked a finger into Harry's elbow, stopping him.

"Thank you. But you really didn't have to walk me to school." He kicked at the gravel at their feet.

"It's okay. I wanted to." _I needed to_. The guilt Harry felt at having been with Draco when Felix was attacked weighed on him heavily. Acting as Felix's bodyguard was the only thing that alleviated it a little.

"Yeah . . . but next time, maybe wait here instead?" Felix asked, looking over his shoulder again. Harry realized what he meant.

"Your parents don't know? About you?"

Felix chewed the side of his mouth. "Uhm, not exactly. A few years ago, they suspected . . . it was really bad."

"Bad _how_?" Harry's eyes narrowed. He remembered Felix's words. " _We're all injured. The world's a fucked up place."_

"I can't . . . I still can't really talk about it," he said apologetically. "I just have to be careful."

"But," Harry struggled to remain calm, "when Jo told me, you said it wasn't a secret. Am I missing something?"

Felix sighed. "Just forget it for now, okay? Please?"

Harry had no right to insist otherwise, but he was not in the habit of forgetting things that hurt his friends. He bit his tongue and swallowed hard. "Okay." He reached out for Felix's hand, and Felix took it this time.

***

"These are very good," said Faber, flipping through Harry's drawings. "Are you sure we have the materials for all of them? And the time? The fairy king and queen seem to have a lot of detail."

Harry paused before answering. Technically they didn't have the materials or the time, but now that he was more comfortable using magic again, he was confident he could pull it off. It would just be a few small spells, transfiguring a bland piece of felt into raw silk, for example, or cutting fabric with his wand rather than scissors, to save time. "I can manage it," he finally replied. "I have a good team." This was also true. There were some very talented sewists in his class and Jo was helping out too.

"Excellent. Jo was right to suggest you for this. We'll have our first dress rehearsal middle of next week. Do you you think you could have the main cast done by then?"

"Probably," Harry said, less certain. Magic or not, it would mean a few late nights.

"Very good. Why don't you and your team start by taking measurements, then? You measure the boys and get Jo to help you measure the girls. I'll have a table set up for each of you in the hall and send the students out one by one." Faber returned to his desk without waiting for a confirmation.

 _Okay. I can do that. It won't be weird at all. I'm a professional._ But of course it would be weird. And he wasn't a professional. He was an eighteen-year-old boy who happened to like boys. Jo found him then, having just come from Faber's desk herself.

"Well, that's hardly fair is it?" She grumbled. "I thought at least we'd both get to do boys and girls. Why do you get all fun?"

Harry smiled nervously. "Straight, oblivious teachers have their advantages I guess?"

"For some of us," she huffed.

Class began and the tables were set up. He and Jo were armed with measuring tape, clipboards and pencils, and given a list of who played each role. They had a bit of time in the empty hallway before Faber would send them their first student.

"Is Felix okay?" Jo asked.

"I think so?" Harry said. "I thought maybe you could tell me. You know him better."

She shrugged. "I know he will be okay, but I'm sure it's shaken him a bit. Last time . . ." She trailed off.

"Last time what?" Harry said, suddenly tense again. "Jo, he won't tell me anything about that."

"Then I can't either," she said. "I wish I could. Just . . . be careful with him." She busied herself by organizing and reorganizing the meagre supplies on her table.

"Yeah. Okay." It wasn't the most helpful advice. Harry picked up the measuring tape and wound it around his wrist absentmindedly.

"Agh, shit!"

Harry looked up at the sound of Draco's voice from down the hall. It had that unfamiliar, light-hearted quality to it again. He couldn't see him, but it almost sounded like he was . . . giggling?

"I was supposed to be on time! JP, I will fucking hex you for this . . ."

He would what him for what?

Then the two boys came into view, but it wasn't immediately apparent which one was Malfoy.

"Oooh I'm soooo fucking scared," JP laughed, shoving Draco forward. The shove must have been a little too hard because it sent him stumbling to the floor, which had the two of them laughing, and trying to stifle their laughing, and swearing at each other.

Harry saw JP help Draco up, and it was then that Harry really saw him.

 _Leather._  
Mesh.  
Eye liner.  
Spiked hair.

_Leather._

_Oh. Oh gods. Circe on a fucking cracker._

The pair steadied their pace and sauntered towards the classroom, unable to keep straight faces.

Draco caught Harry's eye. "Morning, Potter."

"Hi--mor--Draco." _Fuck_.

"Hey Harry," said JP, and muttered something under his breath that Harry couldn't quite catch, but it sounded an awful lot like "Good dog."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted some cute punk boys to my tumblr account. And if anyone anywhere wants to draw me a punk Draco Malfoy I will take it and send you a hundred toasty fedoras. I don't care if you draw it in ketchup on a napkin k thx bye.


	23. Holding On, Holding it In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meaty 3.5k chapter where shit gets kinda dark? And then not so dark. 
> 
> But some scarier homophobic stuff that I'm not really sure how to tag (not explicit but just references to things), so let me know if you have an idea abou that.
> 
> As always, find me in the comments. I have cookies and I'm good at sharing.

"Close your mouth, Harry," Jo scolded. "You'll catch flies."

Harry blinked twice and did as he was told. "No . . . I just . . . didn't . . ."

It was just . . . So. Fucking. Hot. The Malfoy he had known was always so put together, even as a muggle. Understated. Polished. Restrained. This was _very_ different and took his mind all sorts of places it hadn't quite ventured before. He needed to sit down.

Jo eyed him suspiciously. "Okay, old crushes die hard. I get it. And yeah, that look sort of works for him. But you're not really interested anymore, right? Now that you're dating Felix?"

Harry stretched out on his chair in an effort to appear relaxed. "No, of course not," he said, and knocked his clipboard to the floor with his elbow. _Smooth_. "Er, do you think they're dating?" Harry asked, scooping up the clipboard.

"Drake and JP? Hard to say. JP hasn't really dated since . . ." And there it was again, that look on her face and the failure to finish a simple sentence.

"Since what?"

"Never mind."

"Jo, that shit's getting old. Can't you tell me something?"

"You know what? Why don't _you_ tell _me_ something?" Jo countered. "And then maybe we'll make it an even trade. Information for information."

"Is this how you conduct all your friendships?"

"Welcome to high school."

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

Jo answered like the question had been on the tip of her tongue forever. "How do you know him? And don't ask me who or tell me you don't. He stares at you as much as you stare at him. There's something there."

 _Shit_. He should have expected someone would catch on. Well, he could always tell the truth.

"Well," he began, thinking quickly about what he should reveal and what he should leave out, "Remember how you guessed that there were some dickheads giving me a hard time at my old school? When we first met?"

Jo nodded slowly. "Wait," she snapped. "You mean _he_ was one of those dickheads?"

"Sort of," Harry said sheepishly. This was going to be difficult.

"How can the answer to that be 'sort of'?" Jo demanded.

"I mean, it wasn't _entirely_ his fault. We were on . . . in . . . different circles, you might say."

"But--you're British. He's American."

"No, he's faking it."

"What! Why?" She scowled. He could see Draco was earning no points in her book. He didn't know why that should matter to him, but it did.

"I don't know."

"And why is he here?"

"I don't know that either."

"Harry, what the fuck?"

"I know."

"Well I guess it makes sense that you're obsessed with him if he's such a fucking enigma."

"I am _not_ obsessed," Harry said, "and I would never hurt Felix like that."

Jo stared him down. "Do you promise?"

"Yes." He really wanted to believe himself. "But speaking of Felix, my _boyfriend_ , now that I've given you _my_ information--"

"If you can even call it that," Jo muttered.

"Can you tell me what happened? Whatever this big event was?"

Jo looked down both sides of the hall and shuffled her chair closer. "I can give you the condensed version if you _promise_ you won't let on that you know anything. No matter what."

Harry held up his hand. "I solemnly swear."

"Don't get cute. I mean it."

"Sorry. Old habits. I promise, Jo. Not knowing is killing me."

"Okay," she took a deep breath. "No questions. JP and Felix were sort of together a few years ago."

"Felix and--"

"I said no questions."

"Right." JP didn't seem like Felix's type at all. But then, he didn't seem like Draco's type either. Who was Draco's type? _Focus, Harry._

"They really liked each other. I was there. It was pretty epic as far as fourteen-year-old romances go. I like to think I saw it coming before either of them did." Harry had to bite his tongue there because of _course_ Jo would like to think that. "Anyway, JP did something stupid, and Felix's dad found out about them, and he was livid. He's an old school guy, an unrepentant bigoted asshole when it comes to being gay or anything like that."

"Fuck. Oh no."

"Yeah, oh no. He beat the shit out of him."

Harry felt rage bubbling up inside of him and forgot about the no questions rule. "What the hell? And what about his mom?" He practically shouted.

Jo seemed to have forgotten the question rule too, now that she'd said this much. "It's hard to say how much his dad controls her and how much she's been brainwashed by whatever religious cult they claim to follow, but she didn't do or say anything. And the camp was her idea."

"Camp?" Harry's blood ran cold. "What camp?"

"The batshit crazy conversion therapy camp. Felix was sent there to be set 'straight.' He won't even tell me what they did to him there. I don't think JP even knows he went."

"Fuck, Jo," he was trembling. "I wasn't ready to hear that."

"Then maybe you should trust Felix when he says he doesn't want to tell you something," Jo said evenly.

"I--I--don't know what to say. Is he safe? How is he still living there?"

"Somebody called child services--spoiler alert--that was me. They paid his parents a visit, but beyond a warning they couldn't do much else without proof, or a testimony from Felix that he wasn't ready to give. And the camp was protected under religious freedom laws or some bullshit."

"I hate this. I hate this." Harry held his head in his hands, feeling like he might break. "This is not how it's supposed to be here."

"What? You don't have homophobes in Britain? Anyway, his dad and him have come to this weird agreement. Felix can do what he likes at school, but if his dad ever sees him 'acting gay' there will be consequences. He's hardly ever home now unless he has to be, and when he turns eighteen he's out for good."

"Fuck. Fuck. I need some air."

Jo nodded in the direction of the exit at the end of the hall. "You have five minutes. Go, I'll cover. And remember, you don't know shit."

"Yeah," Harry said, already walking away. "That's an understatement."

He wanted to disappear. He wanted to go backwards, to wake up in the forbidden forest and face it all, whatever was waiting for him. He wanted to go to Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione, to flirt with Ginny, to play Quidditch and brew terrible smelling potions and fall asleep studying in the Gryffindor common room. This life he had chosen was a nightmare as much as anything he'd left behind. And he couldn't wake up.  And even if he could, how could he leave Felix now? Wherever he went, he needed to save someone. It was exhausting. Would someone ever think to save him?

He sat down on the grass outside and rested his head on his knees. There had to be someone who could help him figure all of this out.

And what if that someone was the thing he wanted most of all? Even though he shouldn't, even though it was utter madness (and most inconvenient).

Whatever the question was, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that the answer was Draco. And he was scared shitless over it.

He walked back to class and saw that Jo was already measuring someone. Felix was waiting for him.

"Thank God, Harry. I didn't want to give Jo the satisfaction of knowing my . . ."

"Dimensions?"

"Yeah."

"I'm just in time then. Arms up."

Felix obliged, taking a step closer to Harry. Harry smiled and pulled the measuring tape around the widest part of Felix's chest, pinching the tape together with his thumb and forefinger while writing down the number. He tried not to think about what Jo had just told him, but it was impossible when Felix was right here, so close and vulnerable. He hated that people like Felix always seemed to get the most shit thrown at them in life. So bloody unfair.

He measured the length of Felix's arms, the width from shoulder to shoulder, and the circumference of his neck, all the while Felix took the opportunity to flex and subtly lean into him. Harry kept a straight face for most of it, scolding Felix with his eyes every so often, until finally he smirked at Felix and said, "Just one more."

"Yeessss I've been waiting," Felix teased.

"So if you could just hold the top of the tape where your leg meets your--"

"Hold on! Why don't _you_ hold it there?"

"I'm a professional," Harry chuckled. "So you hold it _there_ and I check the number once it reaches your ankle.

"Boring," Felix pouted. "This is not what I signed up for."

"Actually, it's exactly what you signed up for."

"And if I don't comply?"

"Fine. Then I will have to hold the thing at the place with the stuff," said Harry. "Those are the technical terms."

"I love it when you talk dirty in public," Felix said in a low voice.

Harry snorted and punched him lightly in the shoulder.

"Abuse! Abuse!" Felix cried. "I'm telling Faber," he laughed.

Harry froze.

"What?" Felix said, suddenly not smiling.

"What. Nothing." Harry said hurriedly, taking the tape and squatting down to measure Felix's inseam himself, without looking up. "36 inches, tall boy." He stood up and jotted the number down on the clipboard. "You're free to go. Send in the next er . . . customer."

"Okay," said Felix, his brows furrowed. "See you during free period."

Right. That was also when Harry was meeting Draco at the church. But he couldn't leave Felix alone again after yesterday, so he and Draco would have to find a different time for that. And he'd have to find a way to tell him. "Yeah, see you then." Felix disappeared inside the classroom.

Harry looked over at Jo, who was shooting him a death glare.

"Jo, I'm sorry. I just haven't had a lot of time to process it."

"Well, get processing because you already almost blew it."

"I know, I know," he said, letting out a small sigh. "I'm not good at pretending."

"You don't say," Jo said drily. Then, "Oh boy, here we go," as the door opened and JP and Draco both came strolling out. "It's supposed to be one girl and one boy," she said pointedly to JP.

"Guess we're rebels like that," JP smirked back. "Besides, Drake is pretty enough to be a girl."

Draco picked up the cue and batted his lashes at Harry. He had never seen him so playful. And so gorgeous. Fuck pretty enough to be a girl. He was pretty enough to be a god.

"Well, if that's your angle," Jo jumped in, "I'll measure Drake." Harry let out a relieved sigh and smiled at her.

She nodded as if to say, "You owe me for this."

Harry found his voice again. "Okay, JP is it?" Like he didn't know. "Arms up." JP moved easily, fluid, like a dancer, familiar with the drill of being fitted for a costume. Harry hardly had to direct him at all, which made it both easier and harder because there was a distinct lack of conversation, breeding a very awkward silence. JP's hair was a green mohawk this time, the sides of his head freshly shaved. He apparently had no dearth of mesh shirts, as he was wearing yet another one, with a leather vest, making him and Draco appear to be on some sort of punk goth cable show together.  Objectively, it was ridiculous.

And yet. 

"So . . ." Harry said, "You and Drake call each other or something?"

JP quirked an eyebrow and didn't answer, flashing Harry a JP smile instead. Okay then.

"Y'know, the whole . . . matching outfits thing?" He tried again.

"Oh that," JP said with a dramatic sigh. "That was unintentional. Drake spent the night at my house. And things got . . . messy." Draco sniggered from across the hall.

Harry nearly choked on his own saliva, which would have been something since he could have sworn his mouth was bone dry.

"Hmn," was all he could manage, refusing to look at Draco, but wanting so much to look at Draco.

"It's 32 inches."

" _Pardon_?" Harry coughed.

"My inseam," JP grinned wickedly. "You don't have to measure it. I've been the same height since I was fourteen."

"Oh. Okay, thanks."  He jotted down the number, wanting to murder JP for messing with him, and his own hands for fucking shaking so much.

"Okay, Drake, you're all set," Jo said. "Go be pretty somewhere else now."

"I'll do my best, thanks," Draco drawled. And the boys left together.

***

The rest of the period was mercifully drama free. Measuring people was actually quite mundane once he got into the rhythm of it. Arms out, feet apart, turn around, stand straight, blah blah blah. He flipped through the pages on his clipboard during one of the lulls, and his eyes fell to the page on the very bottom, where Draco had cast the apparition spell on his notes last week. A smile crept into his cheeks as he pictured the look on Draco's face after he'd been pelted with the piece of chalk. It occured to him that Draco had cast the spell on his script, which he would have with him now. So if Harry kept writing on this paper, Draco would probably see it. It would be much easier to communicate with him this way after the morning he'd had.

\-- _Hey_.

Harry waited. A minute passed. Then two. His leg started shaking again. Stupid impatient tic.

- _-I SAID HEY._

Why was he such an idiot? Another minute.

\--- _No, you didn't. You wrote it. No need to shout._

Pretentious Prat. Harry grinned a mile wide, and angled his chair away from Jo so she wouldn't suspect.

\-- _Whatever. Can you spare a minute?_

_\--For the Chosen One? Anything._

_\--Fuck off._

\-- _Did in the shower already but thanks. That all?_

Who _was_ this new Draco? "Mrs. Melton's sex hair . . . Mrs. Melton's sex hair," Harry whispered, willing his cock to calm the hell down.

\-- _Didn't need to know. And no that's not all. We need to find a new meeting time. Have to stay with Felix during fourth._

Another few minutes passed before Draco's response appeared. The waiting was driving him bonkers.

\-- _How is he?_

Harry started at the question, warmth flitting through his chest and into his throat. Did Draco really care, just for his sake?

\-- _He's okay.  
\--But I'm not._

He shouldn't have written that, but it was too late now.

\-- _Oh.  
\--So what time then? The rest of the school day is booked. I can't skip any more classes or detentions._

Harry wondered when Draco had ever skipped class, and whether he was alone when he had.

\-- _After school?_

_\--Can't. Have to go straight home. New rules._

_\--Shit. What then?_

More waiting. The bell rang, and Harry collected his things, keeping the clipboard gripped in his hands. There would be no escaping Jo in FACS class, unless . . .

"Hey Jo," Harry tapped her on the shoulder. "Can you tell Miss Stewart that I'll be in the supply room getting some textiles together?"

"Yeah, sure Harry."

He slipped into the dark, musty smelling room and flicked on the fluorescent light. Heaps of fabric littered the floor. He leaned against one of the piles and made himself comfortable. And waited.

\-- _Still there?_

_\--Potter, you have the patience of a five-year-old, and I would know, unfortunately._

_\--Shut up. And say hi to Brittany for me. What class are you in?_

_\--Chemistry. A bit harder to explain the massive script on my desk._

_\--That's just your thing though isn't it? Potions?_

_\--Funny. But yeah, I am actually brilliant at it._

_\--Knew it._

Harry sighed. This was getting dangerously close to flirting. No, it was already there when Draco mentioned getting off in the shower. _Damn it._

\-- _Know-it-all you mean._

_\--So what time? Should I come to your house since you can't leave?_

_\--Fuck no. You're still much too volatile for that._

_\--So . . ._

_\--So I was thinking midnight._

Harry paused. It had to be a joke.

\-- _Hello?_

_\--Now who's impatient. Are you serious?_

_\--Yeah. Easier to sneak out than sneak in. You would know, right?_

He did have a point. No one would miss them at that hour, especially now that they were both proficient enough at silencing charms and sleeping spells.

\-- _Okay. Same place?_

_\--Unless you can think of somewhere better._

_\--Nope._

_\--Then same place. Going now. Have to make a potion._

_\--Don't blow anything up._

_\--I'll leave that to you, as usual.  
\--See you at midnight?_

_\--I'll bring my glass slippers._

_\--???_

_\--Never mind. Muggle story._

Harry spent a few more minutes staring at the page before accepting that would be it for today. He would have to come out of here with some materials since that had been his excuse, so he better get going. He rifled through the piles, tossing promising looking swatches into a smaller heap beside him. But the thought of Draco in the shower, alone or with someone else, kept coming unbidden into his head. Draco leaning into the water with his eyes closed and his throat exposed . . . Fuck. He had to find a decent distraction.

A piece of luxurious green velvet fabric caught his attention, and not a moment too soon. It would be perfect for the Oberon costume. Harry pulled it from the shelf where it was lying and spread it out in front of him. He paged through his notes to find the drawing of Draco, and decided to make a final, more polished copy. Starting from scratch, he took out his clipboard and drew the costume again, filling in more detail, shading for dimension, drawing and redrawing the V of the tunic until it was perfect. He had just finished Draco's eyes and was moving on to shading Draco's sternum when he had a terrible realization.

"Oh shit! Oh fuck!" He said aloud, searching frantically for an eraser or a big thick black marker, dumping out his rucksack and coming up empty. He had been sketching on the note. THE. NOTE. Draco would see it. Maybe he already had. He had no idea if ripping the paper into tiny pieces would destroy it or just bring more attention to it on the other side. Figuring it was his only option, he took the pencil in his hand again and went to scribble over the whole thing. But not before seeing a new message being scrawled out.

\-- _Potter is that_

"Aaaaagh nooooo! Shit, shit, shit!"

\-- _It's nothing_

_\--Okay but is that_

_\--It's NOTHING_

_\--Stop interrupting. Is that my costume?_

Shit.  They were doing this then. Harry moaned and slapped a hand to his forehead.

\-- _Yes_

_\--Are you fucking kidding me? I'm half naked._

_\--You wore a mesh shirt today, Draco. A MESH SHIRT._

_\--WITH A VEST_

_\--So?_

_\--So I can't wear that._

_\--Why not? It has sleeves. It will cover your mark._

Harry found it odd, though certainly a relief, that Draco was more focussed on the costume than the fact that Harry had drawn him in such specific detail. There wasn't a response for another few agonizing minutes. He tried to view the drawing objectively. It wasn't so very inappropriate was it? It was a _fairy_ costume after all. What had Draco expected? To his surprise, a new line appeared on the drawing, across Draco's chest. Then another line crossed over that one. Then another, until Harry realized what an utter arse he was. "Sectumsempra" he whispered to himself in horror.

\-- _Not everyone gets to erase their scars. Get the picture?_

_\--Yes.  
\--I'll change it._

_\--Good.  
\--And my face is not that pointy._

_\--Sorry._

_\--Pardon? What was that?_

Harry rolled his eyes. He should have been annoyed but he was too relieved that Draco was still talking to him.

\-- _I'M SORRY OKAY._

_\--For?_

_\--For everything shitty thing I ever did to you?_

_\--Thank you._

_\--And for drawing your face pointy.  
\--Even though it kind of is._

_\--Bastard._

_\--Git._

_\--See you at midnight._

_\--Be there with bells on._

_\--???_

_\--Muggle expression._

_\--You're hopeless._

Yeah. He was.


	24. How Our Hearts Get Torn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ramping up the angst and the smut for all you dreamers out there . . .
> 
> Warning for sexual themes.

Midnight meetings worked out surprisingly well. The world was quiet. No one noticed either boy's absence. Plus there was the thrill of being just a little rebellious, which was something.

Draco always tried to arrive a little early to collect himself, light some candles and cast some protective enchantments. The church was different at night, no light coming in from the tinted glass windows, just flickering shadows against the stone walls. It felt the way Potter told him churches were meant to feel--hallowed and sacred, in a way that changes one's perspective, at least temporarily.

It was here, at 11:50 pm every night that Draco allowed himself to empty his thoughts until only one remained.

How to save Harry.

During the day, he focused on other things--learning his lines, laughing with JP, whom he now considered one of the best friends he'd ever had, and doing his best in his other classes, which were fascinating. Seeing the natural world through muggle eyes was not an experience he could have ever guessed he would enjoy, but there was the truth of it. So much he would have never bothered to find out if things had been different. He supposed he had Harry to thank for that too, in some twisted way.

How to save Harry.

He would have to tell him everything, eventually. But he'd never been good at bearing tidings, good or bad. He blamed it on his upbringing. The Malfoys never did mince words. He was terrified that if he went about it the wrong way, Harry would run, as he seemed all too capable of doing, if the past was any indication.

He had some time. He was communicating regularly with McGonnagal now, and she was satisfied with his assertion that the trust between him and Potter would have to be well established before he revealed anything critical. But building trust was problematic, because he couldn't do that without building other things as well--things he had been trying to avoid.

Teasing Potter with JP's help was one thing. He'd always enjoyed getting a rise out of him, and by now he'd guessed that there was some mutual attraction between them. It wasn't shocking. They were both bent, and only just eighteen after all. But spending time with Potter one on one, sending notes, sitting close--it was getting to the point of unbearable. Because it wasn't just attraction. He was done denying that he wanted him. He just couldn't believe he loved him. If anything was going to fuck everything up, that was it.

And Harry was still with Felix, protecting him like a watch dog at every turn. What was worse, according to JP, Felix was a good person. No, according to JP, Felix was the _only_ person. Sometimes when and Draco and JP were together, all they did was commiserate about the two boys they loved but couldn't have, because those boys happened to be with each other, and didn't Potter and Felix make a tragically pretty pair. This usually led to getting drunk, followed by self-pity-fuelled make out sessions that ended in clumsy hand jobs. It would be awkward or even funny if it wasn't so fucking sad.

So here he was on a Friday night, trying to come up with yet another "lesson plan" to keep Potter to himself, for at least one more hour, for at least one more day, until he could figure out how to get him _back_ (whatever that meant; it wasn't as clear as it once was). But he was coming up empty. He had no spellbooks to consult, and was reaching the limits of his own magic. There were war gaps in his education, as there would be for anyone who had been at Hogwarts over the last few years. He figured Harry would soon come to same conclusion--that he didn't need Draco anymore. And what then?

He would have to do something drastic.

***

Harry closed his eyes and breathed deep as he approached the church, glowing in the moonlight. He made a point of showing up a few minutes late every night. Not enough to be rude, just enough to give him a moment to see Draco alone and waiting for him. He would peer in through one of the windows to see Draco sitting or standing, often appearing deep in thought, scrutinizing some invisible problem. It was probably wrong to watch him like this, but it set his heart in his throat in the most beautifully tortuous way. It was addictive, and the only time he fully allowed himself to admit that his feelings for Draco were more than friendship or raw attraction.

Harry Potter was not a man who would cheat on someone. The idea alone made his noble Gryffindor skill crawl. He just loved two people. But he only belonged with one of them. He took one last look before bracing himself for his least and most favourite hour of the day.

***

"So, there's really just one more thing we have to do, then," said Draco, settling in beside Harry on the church pew after another successful lesson.

Harry knew they were getting to be redundant, these lessons. He hadn't had a hint of a latent flare up since they'd started, and his use of fine magic was impeccable now, impressing even Draco. It felt so good to properly wield a wand again, even if it was just for everyday spells. But what did that mean, then? If it was time to give up the lessons, he wouldn't have an excuse to see Draco anymore. And he hadn't even been able to find out why Draco was here in the first place. He imagined the reasoning must have been similar to his--a way to escape the war. But it was some divine practical joke that they happened to escape to the same place. There had to be more to it.

"And what's that?" Harry asked, afraid of the answer.

"We have to test you," Draco said, looking strangely uncomfortable.

"I thought that's what we've been doing?"

"No, it isn't," he said slowly, stroking his hair back in the way that made Harry's breath catch. Every time. "We've been fine-tuning your magic, but we don't know if you've mastered it well enough to avoid future . . . issues."

"Oh. But I haven't had any issues? So far?"

"And have you had emotional responses as equally strong as when the issues first became a problem?" Draco raised both eyebrows.

Harry stopped to think. He was beginning to hate the word "issues." He could see Draco's point though.  
"Those _incidents_ happen only when I'm feeling certain ways. How can we test it?"

"I could try pissing you off?" Draco mumbled half-heartedly.

"I'm not really in the mood for a fight, Draco," not realizing what the other option was until it was too late.

"Well, there is . . . the other thing."

"You mean . . ." Harry half smiled and scratched his neck. A prickle of excitement stirred inside him.

"I mean, obviously you can't test it on Felix, because if you _aren't_ ready, then you'll have a repeat of last time." Draco's voice was steady and his face betrayed no emotion. The pink tips of his ears though, they gave him away. Harry could scarcely let himself believe what Draco might be suggesting. He wanted to hear him say it.

"Right. So what are you suggesting?" Harry's jaw tensed as he tried to appear nonchalant _. But I am feeling very fucking CHALANT._

"Test it on me." He said it as if he were asking Harry to pass him a pencil.

"You?" Harry focused on Draco's grey steel eyes, which had locked on his.

Draco finally broke the gaze and sighed. "Look, we both like snogging boys, yes?"

"Er . . . Yes." _Understatement_.

"So maybe you should just . . . pretend I'm him? Unless that would make you uncomfortable." Draco licked his lips in a way that seemed unintentional, but Harry couldn't be sure.

He let out a small puff of breath. "Hokay. And you would pretend . . . ?"

"Well it doesn't much matter, does it?" Draco said briskly. "I'm not the one with the problem. I don't mind doing this to help you. I can pretend you're anyone really."

"So noble . . ." Harry said with a nervous laugh. "Erm. Okay. This could get . . . awkward, though, couldn't it?"

"Not if you get in the right headspace," Draco said quickly. "You close your eyes and think about Felix. I won't say anything and I'll kiss you. Surely you have enough imagination for that?" He really seemed to have thought this through.

"Yeah. Yeah. Imagination. Sure." No turning back now.

Harry's palms started to sweat. He hoped the dim candlelight disguised his uneasiness. He gripped the edge of his seat on the pew. Draco was there beside him, just . . . waiting? Harry cleared his throat. "Ready when . . . you are?" He closed his eyes and felt his entire body thrumming in anticipation. He knew he should be thinking about Felix, but he definitely was not. He was thinking about Draco, who at any moment would be kissing him. And kissing him to elicit a _reaction_. He had never been kissed _by_ Draco, though Merlin knew he'd thought about it. Dreamt about it. He breathed in and out. "So are you going to warn me or--"

He felt, rather than saw Draco's thigh move next to his so they were touching. Instinctively, he turned his head towards him. A cool, slender finger was suddenly on his lips. Then a hand held his jaw while another trailed all through his hair, making small twirling motions on the back of his neck. He bit back a gasp. Smooth, searching lips glided over his and a hand moved to rest flat on his chest. His heart was pounding so hard he felt sure that Draco's hand would jump with each beat. But he couldn't help it. He didn't want to help it. He leaned into the kiss and slid one hand to small of Draco's back, under his sweater but over his white cotton shirt, feeling muscle and bone and the dip of his spine just above the waistband of his jeans. Pressing in closer, he reached over so that his other hand was on Draco's thigh, almost not his thigh. Draco whimpered softly, which would have caught Harry off guard if he had been thinking of Felix like he was supposed to be doing, but instead it only encouraged him. He ran his tongue along the seal of Draco's perfect soft mouth and gently pushed inside, where he was met with a hungry enthusiasm unlike anything he'd ever felt.

Kissing Ginny had been okay. Kissing Felix had been good. But kissing Draco Malfoy--and being kissed back--that was fucking exceptional.

Before he knew what he was doing-- _oh god what am I doing--I don't care--I can't stop--_ both of his hands were on Draco's hips, pulling, _lifting_ , and Draco wasn't fighting it. He dragged Draco onto his lap so the beautiful blonde boy straddled him, and kissed him harder and deeper, tasting him and needing more. Draco had his arms braced with his hands against the back of the pew on either side of Harry. Both of them were obviously hard, breathing heavily, moving against each other without thinking, shuddering at every roll of their hips. He could come from this. He was going to, in a church, fully clothed. It was insane. Harry dared to open his eyes for just a moment, and was shocked to see Draco staring back at him, eyes wide and dark with longing.

Draco stopped abruptly and pulled away, then rolled back to his spot beside Harry. "'Spose that broke the spell. You can stop pretending," he said, his voice hoarse, his eyes at his feet.

Harry couldn't say anything for a solid thirty seconds.

"I guess . . . I passed." He looked around the church nervously. No harm done. Why was he so disappointed by that?

"Guess so. You're cured," Draco said in a hollow voice. "We should go home."

"Yeah," said Harry, feeling exactly the opposite. He wanted to stay. He wanted Draco in his arms, and to know that Draco wanted to be there, with him, not JP or some other faceless person. He needed this to mean something or he would break.

Draco got up, and reached over Harry for his leather jacket--another JP cast off no doubt--giving Harry another whiff of his scent. He couldn't leave. Harry tried to catch his eye but it was useless. _Please_ _don't_ _leave_.

But he did.

"Later Potter."

The door swung open and shut, sending a wave of cool night air through the empty church. Harry hugged himself and shivered in the dark.


	25. There's This Burning (Like There's Always Been)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little short, but this chapter has a scene that's been in my head forever. Also: there is fan art! I'll link it at the bottom as soon as I figure out how. Check back here later today or check my tumblr in a bit. It's so good!
> 
> Last thing: the updates are going to slow down a little from now on. I'm behind on some other things (like, you know, life) and I have to catch up. I'm hoping for once a week from now on. Thanks for following along this far!

  
It was everything Draco could do not to run. Every second, he felt the pull to turn around, and every second he fought it, walking faster, breathing harder.

He didn't know what he'd expected, propositioning Potter like that. Just to know how it felt, maybe. To feel how their bodies fit together. He'd fooled himself into thinking that perhaps once he knew, he could forget about it. But now it would be impossible to forget anything.

His footsteps were the only sound on the streets. It seemed everyone in world, whatever their story, was home and safe and sleeping. He'd never been more awake. He shook his head to banish the thoughts that kept coming, but it didn't help.

The way Harry had sat there, with his eyes closed, breathing softly. The way he'd leaned into Draco, took him, held him, gave in. The way his hands had gripped Draco's thighs, the pressure of his thumbs on either side, and his mouth open and wanting.

"Mr. Malfoy."

 _Oh for fuck's sake_. Of all the times for her to show up. "I know. I'm a little late getting home," he said sarcastically, not stopping.

"Some respect, please, Draco."

"I'm doing what you wanted," he snapped. "But it won't work. You shouldn't have chosen me. You should have at least chosen someone he cared about," he said bitterly.

McGonnagal stepped in front of him and held up one hand, forcing Draco to stop. "I have."

He moved to push past her.

"You are his equal and his match, Draco," she said, holding him back, a familiar ferocity in her eyes that he'd always grudgingly admired. "If it weren't for the war, you would have both known it by now."

How the hell could she _know_?

"Well, there was a war, wasn't there? Everything's fucked now anyway."

She started as if she was about to reprimand him, but then stopped. "Do you believe that, Draco?"

He closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted. "I don't know."

"Then you must carry on until you do." She squeezed his arm for the smallest second before disappearing with a muted crack.

 

***

 

Harry folded and refolded the swatches and papers littering the small table backstage. Dress rehearsal day. He'd hung every costume on the rack in the hallway outside the locker rooms, and labelled each one with a name and the scene when that character first appeared on stage. Everyone was supposed to come to him for any last minute adjustments before they went on. It was just a formality in most cases, as he doubted anyone in the audience would care about whether or not someone's costume was an inch or two short, or if the material didn't hang just right. He dismissed most of the cast members with a word. "Fine." "Good." And sent them on their way.

Felix sauntered in waving the heavy black curtain back dramatically. "Ahoy matey. Thar ye be!"

"Shut it," Harry laughed. "It looks perfect. Go sweep what's her face off her feet."

"Hermia."

"Right. And give Demetrius hell."

"Will do. Thanks Harry," he winked, brimming with excitement, and swished back through the curtains.

Harry's heart fluttered a little, not because of Felix, but because he was running out of cast members before Draco would have to come by.

They hadn't spoken since that night. Their notes remained untouched and they avoided each other during and between classes. Harry recognized it was probably for the best, but it didn't stop him from missing Draco, and thinking of him at the most inopportune times. He'd planned to give Draco a cursory once over like everyone else, to make this meeting as painless as possible. But, as the universe seemed keen to keep reminding him,if you want to make the gods laugh, tell them your plans.

He just needed this to be over. He flipped through his notes for the millionth time. The curtains rustled softly, and someone behind him cleared their throat.

Harry turned, and felt the wind knocked out of him. There stood Draco, in full stage make up and costume, looking positively magnificent. Harry had made the necessary adjustments so none of his scars would show, layering a tunic with an outer coat and sheer cape.  The props and make-up team had crafted a crown of twigs and foliage, almost an exact replica of his original sketch, and added a few extra sprigs around his shoulders and his boots. It looked truly magical. Everything fit perfectly, though the collar was just the tiniest bit crooked. His fingers itched to fix it, if only because it was so close to the bare skin of Draco's collarbone.

"Uhum . . . looks great," he managed.

"But?" Draco asked, following Harry's eyes.

"Oh, it's just . . . here," he took a tentative step closer. "It's the collar. It's not stitched tight enough." He popped a couple of pins in his mouth while he tugged on the lapel. Sliding one of pins between the layers of fabric, he muttered a sticking charm under his breath. Tiny goosebumps appeared across Draco's neck and Harry could see the pulse quicken in the hollow of his throat. And at that moment he was sure he had never wanted anything more in his life.

"Anything else?" Draco asked, his lips barely moving.

_Everything else. I miss you. I can't stop thinking about you. And I don't know what to do._

"No." Harry stepped backwards again. "Except--"

Draco waited.

Harry bit his lip hard to stop the words from coming out, but it was no use. "You're fucking gorgeous. You know that, right?"

Draco broke into a laugh, much to Harry's relief. "You have a thing for fairies, Potter?"

"Yeah, I guess so," he said. _When they're you_. "Anyway. Break a leg, Draco. It's a--"

"Muggle expression. I know. JP told me," he said, relaxing a little.

"Right, okay." Harry nodded. "You're done then."

"Thanks."

Harry let out a long sigh. This wasn't getting easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't figure out how to embed an image to save my life but copying and pasting this link *should* work.
> 
> The artist is banana-ge-ge
> 
>  https://thirdeyeblinking1982.tumblr.com/post/173928247106/fan-art-commission-by-the-super-talented


	26. Nobody Said It Was Easy

Mr. Melton sat hunched over the kitchen table, doing a crossword puzzle and sipping his coffee. It was so "muggle dad" of him that Harry almost wanted to laugh. He was usually out the door before Harry was properly dressed, but today he had an appointment that kept him home until this afternoon. Harry wasn't comfortable around adults in general, but he missed having the option to confide in someone older and perhaps wiser.

As usual, he would be leaving out some key details, but that wouldn't matter much. Harry made himself known by banging open the cupboard door to get a plate for his toast.

"Ah, Harry," Mr. Melton looked up. "What's the good word?"

"Er . . ." Harry stared blankly.

"Sorry, I just mean, how are you?" The man looked at him with polite interest.

"Oh. Good," Harry paused. "Pretty good."

"Everything going okay?"

"Yeah. . . " Harry buttered his toast and sat down. "I just wanted to ask you something kind of . . . personal?"

Mr. Melton straightened up, suddenly looked very eager, like he'd been waiting for this conversation his whole life. "Oh yes, absolutely! Fire away."

Harry studied the criss cross pattern on the tablecloth. "I'm dating someone."

Mr. Melton smiled. "Is that so? That was rather quick, wasn't it? You should bring her around sometime."

"I--well, that's not really what I wanted to talk about." He was rapidly losing faith in this idea, but he needed to talk to _someone_ about this and his options were extremely limited. "I mean, it sort of is . . . "

"Go on," the man said, almost patronizingly. "I think I know what this is about. I mean, I was a teenager once." He winked.

 _Oh fuck no, not that again_. Harry paled and searched his mind for something to say before the man brought out a banana and a condom.

"No, it's just . . . If you're dating someone, but you kiss someone else, do you think you should tell them? Or would it be better not to hurt them?" He couldn't believe he'd just said that out loud.

Mr. Melton paused for a moment. "Well," he said, wrinkling his brow and heaving a small sigh. "That's not the question I was expecting." It wasn't quite the question Harry had expected to ask either, but it was close enough. "But you know I think, Harry?"

Harry shook his head.

"I think," he started, not unkindly, "That if you're dating someone, you shouldn't be kissing anybody else." He gave Harry an apologetic smile. "You follow me?"

Harry nodded slowly. It wasn't the answer he was looking for, but he knew it was the right one. He was grateful for someone to cut through the shit and say what mattered. He'd like to think that Sirius would have done that for him, or even his own dad, if things had been different. Worlds different.

"Mr. Melton--"

"Call me Chris."

"Chris," Harry said hesitantly. "I think you'd make a good dad."

The man choked on his coffee and looked away for a moment before facing Harry again. "Thank you, Harry." He got up and drained the last remainder of coffee in the sink. "Well, best be off. No good wasting the morning." He swished the mug in the soapy water and deposited it in the drying rack on the counter. "Have a good day, Harry," he said, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

"Thanks." Harry sat at the table for a moment longer before heading to the door himself.

He'd meant it, what he'd said to Chris. He didn't think he'd have been able to go through with this day if it hadn't been laid out so simply for him. It really was that heart achingly simple. He wanted Draco, but he was with Felix. And regardless of how Draco may or may not feel about him, things couldn't continue as they were.

He took the route to Felix's neighbourhood a little slower, wondering if it was the last time. He tried out every line he could think of, but nothing sounded even close to right. He stopped just short of their meeting spot at the corner. Felix hadn't arrived yet. Harry forced himself to take the final block there and wait patiently. It was just a moment before he saw his easy stride, his casual smile. And he was going to miss him. He wouldn't ask if they could be friends, because he didn't think that would be possible. But he desperately wished it could be.

"Hey Ha--" Felix started, but stopped dead when he saw Harry's face. "What's wrong."

Harry couldn't speak. He shook his head and pursed his lips.

"Harry," said Felix, more forcefully, his body still but a hint of panic in his eyes.

"Felix, I--" Harry croaked. 

He saw Felix's fists clench. "Just _fucking_ say it, for God's sake."

"I'm really sorry . . .I can't . . ." Harry said, his voice wavering.

"No." The word was cold, on the edge of a knife. "I don't want to hear sorry. I don't--" Harry could see tears brighten Felix's eyes, could feel him struggling to keep control. "I want to hear why."

"It's compli--"

"Did Jo tell you?" He demanded. "She did, didn't she?"

Harry nodded. "But that's not--"

"Oh, like fuck it isn't," he glowered. "That's some rich hypocrisy there Harry, Mr. Don't-Treat-Me-Like-I'm-Injured. What the hell is it then?"

It would be easier, Harry realized, to let him believe that was the reason. But that would make him the worst kind of coward.  

 "You've been different," Felix whispered, and Harry felt a lump in his own throat. "I've been trying so hard. I don't know what else I could have done."

"Nothing," Harry said, his voice pleading. "Please believe me--there is nothing." _The world's a fucked up place._

Felix wouldn't look at him.

The words he had to say were heavy like bile in his stomach. He reached out, then retracted his hand when Felix ignored it. Finally he spoke into the air between them, laid the words out bare, ugly and honest. "It's someone else." 

He thought he would have given the world not to see the hurt crashing over Felix's face. But then, that wasn't true, was it? He wouldn't have given the world. That was the problem. 

"I never thought-- I never meant--"

Felix glared at Harry now, his chest rising and falling. "Don't. Do. not. ever."

Harry nodded. 

"Fuck you, Harry," Felix said quietly, turning his back to walk away. He'd gone ten steps before swivelling around and sobbing, "Fuck you!" 

Harry let him go.

_Heart breaker Harry._

Why did it feel like the heart he broke was his own?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it had to happen, and we were waiting for it, but I hope I did it justice. There's a lot of angsty dramatic dialogue in this fic in general, and I know that's partly just because I'm new at this and probably rushing things a little. BUT-- I also know that I remember how these things felt as a teenager, and sometimes I think that's when we feel them the strongest. Even a short relationship that crumbles after a few weeks can take quite a toll on someone who depended on it so much, who felt like someone was finally getting them. So I hope that comes through. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and commenting and leaving kudos. It keeps me going like nothing else! Come visit me on tumblr, same user name as here :)


	27. If it Makes You Happy (Then Why the Hell Are You So Sad?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much happens (sorry! Go back to bed if I woke you!), just a little perspective from the other two. More action to come later.

"I'm still a little drunk," Draco admitted groggily to JP during chemistry. "Maybe you should add the sodium bicarbo-whatsit."

"Ssh!" JP looked him up and down for a moment before taking the beaker from his hands.

"What?" Draco rested his chin on his wrist, eyes half lidded. "Why the judgey stare?"

JP shifted uncomfortably. "Well, you've been hitting it a little harder than usual lately. I'm just a little--"

"You'd better not say worried," Draco hissed. "I am quite well."

"I know, I know," said JP, "Just . . . "

"You used to be entertaining," Draco complained. "Don't become my mother. It's not fetching. Not to mention the height of hypocrisy."

JP rolled his eyes. "Fine. Just let me do the whole thing. We'll talk later."

"Fine," Draco agreed, and slumped down onto the desk, closing his eyes. He didn't awaken until the bell was echoing through his head, making the ache behind his eyes that much worse. "Fuck," he groaned. "Why's the bloody bell so loud today?"

JP pulled at his wrist. "Get up," he said through gritted teeth, "before someone notices that you look like a zombie and you smell like a brewery." When the tugging didn't work, he slipped his hands under Draco's arms and heaved upwards. "Fucking idiot, I'm serious."

"Alright, all bloody right, just give me a second," Draco drawled, dragging himself to his feet. "I don't know what either of those things are, but that didn't sound very nice," he pouted.

"Truth hurts, bro," JP muttered.

"Where're we going?"

"Well, first you're going to eat something and drink some water, and then you're going home. School's over."

"Yes, _Mum_." Draco followed JP to his locker and slid down to sit on floor. "Just resting a minute."

"Eat this while you're down there." JP shoved a sticky, sugary mass into his hands as he collected his books.

Draco viewed it and the mess on his fingers with disdain. "Don't you eat anything that isn't frosted?" But he took a bite anyway.

"It's a donut. Fine American cuisine. Not bad huh?" He waited for a response but Draco just ignored him and kept eating. It did taste pretty good, and he was suddenly starving. "Here," JP tossed him a water bottle and a napkin, "Now let's go already."

As JP helped him to his feet, _again_ , something in his peripheral vision caught his attention. It was Potter on a bench just a ways down the hall, alone, and looking about as miserable as he felt (but likely more sober). He held textbook in front of him but his eyes were staring into space. Hmm. Maybe he should talk to him?

"Not a good idea, man," JP said, seeming to read Draco's thoughts.

"What's not?" he said innocently, now quite obviously looking in Potter's direction.

"Nevermind," JP sighed. "We'll talk at your place."

"My place?" Draco tore his gaze away.

"Yes, I'm walking you there. Don't trust you in this state."

"Fucking hell, JP, I'm fine," Draco snapped, finally turning his head.

"Yeah, yeah, you're fine, but you're exhausted. And we need to talk."

"Oh wonderful, just what I feel like doing when I'm exhausted."

"Well at least you're admitting it now." 

"Fuck you," Draco grumbled.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," JP tsked. "Come on."

It was no use wasting valuable energy arguing any further. Draco allowed himself one more look in Potter's direction, just in time to see him close his textbook and rub his temples between his thumb and forefinger. What was wrong?

***

He and JP walked in silence (for once), which suited him. He needed time to think. Harry had seemed just fine yesterday. Better than fine. He'd called him gorgeous for fuck's sake (Like he hadn't played _that_ over and over in his head a thousand times since). They'd had a bit of a moment, if he was honest with himself--the first moment since that night. It had been gloriously agonizing having him so close, close enough to smell his hair and feel his breath, everything taking him back to the last time they were together.

But a moment was all it was. Harry was still with Felix. He'd seen them leave together yesterday, hand in hand like some sappy muggle greeting card. He'd taken comfort in a bottle of chardonnay, having sworn off hard liquor for the foreseeable future. Still did the trick at least.

  
But wait--that was it. Felix wasn't with Harry now. Could something have happened? Maybe if he'd been able to pay any sort of attention today he would know. Damn.

He drained the water bottle and crunched it absentmindedly in his hand. The food, water and exercise had him feeling considerably better, at least physically. JP really didn't need to worry. He  stopped.

"JP, I do appreciate it, but I'm alright. You can go home. I just need more sleep."

"You're doing better," JP allowed, "but we still need to talk. And you can't fall asleep at my place again."

Draco sighed. "So bloody stubborn, you are."

"I prefer persistent. Or dedicated. Or long-suffering. Or--"

"A pain in the fucking arse."

"That too." He shot Draco a cheeky grin.

"Fair warning, the place I'm staying isn't the most . . . hospitable."

"I'm sure I can manage," JP smirked. They kept walking.

***

"Why do they feed you like rabbits?" JP said under his breath, wrinkling his nose at the plate of carrot and celery sticks on the coffee table, the same after school snack Draco's foster parents offered every single day. 

He shrugged. "Because it's inexpensive and requires little thought? It's how they run things here."

"Pitiful."

"Could be worse."

They settled onto the shag carpet on the floor, resting against the sofa, since the sitting surface was, as usual, covered in laundry. 

"So." Draco looked at JP expectantly. "Talk then."

"Okay.  What's the deal with you? You're mopier than usual. And drunker."

"And?" Draco deadpanned.

"And that's my question. Answer it. Then we'll talk some more."

_Fucking perceptive squib_. He really didn't want to get into this. "Can't it just be muggle life taking its toll on me, a precious magical flower?"

"Ha." JP elbowed him. "Not that precious. Out with it."

"Not here," Draco said muttered.

"Then where? We just sat down!" JP gave an exasperated groan.

Draco sighed and stood up, taking the untouched plate of vegetables with him. "I'm on afternoon dishes anyway. Follow me." He led JP to the crowded kitchen where the counter was littered with all of the day's dishes since breakfast. They had to be done by 5pm so the kitchen was clean before dinner. Why neither of the two adults in the house could bother to do it was beyond him, but he wasn't in a position to refuse. It was surprising how quickly he'd gotten used to manual labour. Maybe because it felt like penance somehow, and gods knew he had plenty of that to accomplish. 

"You wash, I'll dry." _And hopefully the water will drown out our conversation._

"And ruin this manicure? I don't think so," JP grabbed the tea towel from him and shoved him over with his hips.

"Can't blame me for trying."

 "Quit stalling and spill it," JP demanded in his best nosey girlfriend impression.

Draco swished on the hot water tap and squirted some dish soap into the sink. "I kissed him," he said into the rising steam.

"Sorry, the water's too loud, I could have sworn you said--"

"I kissed him," Draco said again, "and he kissed me back." To say those words out loud. It was almost too much.

JP made a show of staggering backwards in shock, "Draco Fucking Malfoy, you saucy minx," he shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. "When the hell did this happen?"

"Shut up," Draco growled, dropping plates into the water. "And watch your fucking language. Someone will hear you." He looked over his shoulder.

"Okay," JP lowered his voice, still smirking, "But you are going to tell me every single detail."

"I'm going to tell you what is _necessary_ and that will be enough or you can leave right now."

"So? When?" JP pressed. 

"Few nights ago." Draco scrubbed vigorously at the cast iron skillet in his hands. 

" _Nights_? Since when do you and Potter spend time together after dark?"

"There's a lot you don't know."

"I'll say!"

"It's not an over-dishes conversation."

"I'll just bet it isn't," JP guffawed. "I'm going to overlook the fact that you should have told all of this to me a long time ago-- _for now_ \-- if you'll just answer me one question."

Draco dropped a load of freshly washed dishes into the drying rack in front of JP and jerked his head. "Which is?"

JP picked up a dinner plate and smoothed the tea towel over its surface. "How was it? Obviously."

Draco hesitated, knowing the flack he would get from JP for a truthful answer, but found he was incapable of giving another.

"Magic."

He waited for JP to give him hell, but the look on JP's face was altogether different from what he'd expected. 

"I know the feeling," the boy said wistfully.

And for a while, the sound of water splashing and dishes clinking was the only thing either of them heard. 


	28. You're What I Couldn't Find

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, okay. So this is different. It's about to get Jelix up in here. Yes, I made up a ship name for my OC's and I'm writing a chapter about them, in their POVs because I can (evil self indulgent laugh). They are still a side pairing, and things will be very Drarryish in the near future, but this side of the story also deserves to be told. A little. And yes I've been trying to limit myself to fewer updates but looks like I'm addicted so here we are. *ducks nervously*

He woke up shaking, swallowing a scream. Now that Harry could no longer serve as a distraction, the nightmares were worse than ever. And waking up in his own room wasn't much of a comfort, not with them in the same house.

He needed to talk to Jo, but he couldn't risk being overheard. The phone was all the way in the kitchen and the floors creaked at the slightest step.

He'd known all along it couldn't last. There was something about Harry that didn't belong here, didn't belong with him. But he'd ignored it, because it had been so nice to have someone again.

He also had a good idea who Harry's "someone else" was. The tall blonde who seemed to think he walked on water. The one Harry couldn't keep his eyes off of, no matter how he'd tried to hide it. The one who came to his rescue the day everything changed, in a puzzling turn of events. And the one who, as it happened, also hung around with his first mistake.

Jeremy.

If he hadn't fallen for Jeremy so completely, when they were so young, maybe he would still feel safe in his own home. Maybe the memories of cold water wake-ups, elastic bands on his wrists, and pitch black isolation wouldn't even exist.

Who would they be then, him and Jeremy? Still friends? Still each other's confidantes, a bond deeper than brotherhood, the fierce loyalty between them stronger than ever instead of shattered into sharp, tiny fragments?

He'd tried to forget, and Jeremy had kept his end of the deal. He'd surrendering everything, including his friendship with Jo, all of their inside jokes and secret haunts. He'd respected Felix's wishes and never spoke to him, never looked at him, and Felix never looked back. It hurt too much.

Jeremy had even gone so far as to change his entire personality, dressing outrageously, going by his initials, hosting parties fuelled by hormones and alcohol. It was a downward spiral if Felix had ever seen one, but that was Jeremy's problem. JP's problem. Not his. Not anymore.

But if he let himself, just for a moment, think back to when they used to fall asleep in each other's arms, listening to the radio and humming along, he would remember that once upon a time, he'd felt completely safe. Once, for a little while, he had been happy.

His bedroom window was the only thing in the whole house that opened and closed without announcing it. He slid the pane upwards and crawled out.

***

JP tossed back and forth, flinging the duvet off of his four poster bed.

He'd managed to drag bits of the convoluted story from Draco, just enough to make his head spin before going home. It was the sort of thing he would normally swoon over. Midnight rendezvous and stolen kisses for god's sake. But this was different. Something made him uneasy. Felix didn't deserve to have his secret wizard boyfriend be unfaithful to him, even if it was under the guise of helping their relationship. Did he have that right? It sounded more ridiculous to him with each passing minute. And the more time passed, the less certain JP was that there was any event under the sun that would throw Felix back to him. He'd likely blown it forever. So what was the point?

If Draco was telling the truth, and he had no reason not to be, he and Potter did have something powerful between them. Which left Felix where? If today was any indication--JP had noticed Harry and Felix barely looked at one another during English Lit, and even Draco noticed Harry alone after school--it was quite possible they had already called it off. He wouldn't tell Draco his suspicions until they were confirmed, but it made the most sense. His heart ached for Felix; he would take it hard, JP knew. And there was nothing he could do to help. Things were all fucked up, as usual.

He jumped out of bed and threw on a plain white t-shirt in addition to his flannel pyjama pants, then a leather jacket on top of that. He needed a walk, and sleep wasn't happening any time soon. He threw open the door--no need for mystery in this house--and shuffled down the street, hands in his pockets, going just a short way before cursing himself for forgetting his lighter. A cigarette would have been perfect. He only half realized the direction in which he was headed: out behind the old arena, there was a willow tree at the bottom of the big grassy hill. They used to sit with their backs against the massive trunk, a ring around it, him, Felix, and Jo, and play stupid games. "Guess what face I'm making?" "Guess who this is?" "I spy with my little eye." _Something that is gone._

It was there Felix's hand had first touched his, and neither of them had moved away.

He approached it from the playground off to the side, flipping a swing as he passed it. He'd always had a fondness for swings. The closest a squib could get to flying, he supposed. The tree was still there, its branches swaying a little. JP slowed his stride and took everything in. He could almost hear their younger voices laughing. Four years since he'd been here. A short span of time, all things considered, but the longest of his life. He pulled off his jacket and laid it on the damp grass at the base of the trunk, then leaned back and breathed into the branches.

Leaves rustled on the other side of the trunk. Something snapped.

"Hello?" He said into the darkness.

No one answered. JP waited and strained with everything he had to hear something. There was definitely someone there. They were breathing. It was stilted and hushed but also forceful somehow. They were crying.

JP closed his eyes and slowly drew his hand back and rested it behind him, where the person on the other side of the tree would see it. Almost instantly, another hand was on his. He thought he knew it, but he couldn't see it, couldn't be sure, didn't dare hope. He felt a sob rising in his own throat but he choked it down. They stayed like that until he fell asleep, drifting off as the light had just begun to creep back. He woke as the October sun stretched out on the horizon, finding his hand back in his lap and a frosted dew sparkling around him.

Maybe it had been a dream. The best dream he'd had in four years.


	29. Unfinished All The Thoughts That We'd Begun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry has lots of conversations and feelings.

"Potter."

Harry looked up from his spot on the bleachers, nearly blinded by the reflection bouncing off of the silver shirt on the boy in front of him. He'd come here early this morning for some solitude, and couldn't help feeling annoyed that it was being disrupted so soon.

"JP?" he said, shielding his eyes with one hand.

"I need to ask you something," JP took a small step forward and fidgeted with a ring on his thumb, uncharacteristically hesitant.

"Alright," said Harry, eyeing him carefully. What could JP could want with him? Did it have anything to do with Draco?

"You and Felix," the boy said simply.

Harry winced. He should have known, of course. "What about . . . " he couldn't say _us_ anymore.

"Are you still together?" JP asked, visibly holding his breath.

Harry shook his head. "Not that it's any of your business," he added, a little too aggressively. He didn't know what he felt anymore and talking about it was not helping. He hunched down to grab a book from his bag on the ground, hoping JP would take the hint not to press him further.

"Felix will always be my business, so you can fuck off there."

_Okay then_. The response caught Harry off guard. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, pushing the familiar urge to fight, but he took a deep breath instead, thinking better of it. He had no quarrel with JP, not really. And if he played this right, maybe this conversation could even be of some use.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," he offered. "It's just been hard." JP seemed to soften a little at that, so Harry took it a step further. "You're welcome to sit if you like."

JP pulled his jacket tighter over his shoulders and hovered for a moment before joining Harry on the cool metal bench. "Yeah, okay. For a minute," he said warily.

"Can I help you with something else?"

He saw JP bite his lip before asking. "Is he . . . okay?"

The image of Felix sobbing on the street corner was the first to come to mind, so that wasn't helpful. "I don't know," he answered truthfully. "I wish I did."

"At least he has Jo though, right?" JP fidgeted with his ring again.

"I hope so," said Harry, hating the thought that Felix might be as alone as he was. "I know she'll be there for him, but he might be angry with her too. For telling me about the camp and everything," he explained, cringing at the words.

JP went rigid beside him. "What camp?"

_Oh, fuck._ "Oh, just, nothing." _Shit_.

"Potter." JP grabbed his wrist, his eyes wide in alarm. "What. Camp."

Harry shook his arm free. JP deserved to know. It was obvious he still cared about Felix. But should Harry be the one to tell him? "I wasn't supposed to know, JP. Maybe you should ask him?" He said nervously. That wasn't an answer he would accept so he didn't expect JP to accept it either.

"He won't talk to me!" He cried. "He hasn't talked to me in years. Literally. Years."

"Is that a reason to stop trying?" Harry asked, painfully aware of the irony that the advice could just as easily apply to him in more than one situation.

"Fucking easy for you to say," JP hissed. "How do you know what I've tried? How do you know--" he stopped himself. A shuddered breath escaped. "He mentioned the camp once, before everything happened," he raked a hand through the spikes on his head, closing his eyes. "I thought he was joking. Fuck, I really thought he was joking! No wonder he . . . I never thought they would actually--How could anyone?"

"I don't know," said Harry, wishing they were talking about anything else. "I can hardly think about it."

"So you just broke up with him?" JP snarled, turning towards him and rising to his feet, all of his movements agitated. "And kissed someone else instead of dealing with your feelings like a human being? How could you leave him like that?"

Harry gaped, both at the acccusation and at how much JP knew. He opened his mouth to defend himself but no words came. Maybe there were no words. The look on JP's face was one of scalding contempt, and Harry couldn't deny that he deserved it. He dug his toe into the mud at his feet, feeling utterly wretched.

"I know," was all he could manage. I _know. I fuck up everything, everywhere. Always have. Always will._ And now there was no way he could ask JP anything about Draco. "I should go," he said, standing to meet JP at eye level. The boy tensed before him, saying nothing. "But I do think you should talk to him. He deserves better than me."

"Too damn right," JP said evenly. "And so does Draco."

_Hold on._

"What did you say?" Harry asked roughly.

JP shrugged. "Forget it."

"Yeah, _right_ ," he glared at JP.

"Just stop fucking with him, all right?" The protective tone was unmistakable. "I think you've done enough."

"How would you . . ." Harry spluttered. "You don't know anything about--"

"I know enough." JP tilted his head while holding Harry's gaze. "I don't have to be a _wizard_ to figure it out." He raised an eyebrow.

Harry stopped dead. Too fucking weird. He almost reached into his pocket for his wand, but that would be ridiculous. Still, something about the way JP was looking at him made him very uneasy. He had to leave before he went completely mad.

But JP's face changed again. When he spoke, there was something far away in his voice. "He cares about you, you know. Draco. Hell if I can figure out why."

Harry's stomach did a double flip. "Shut up," was all he could think of to say.

"So mature, Mr. Potter."

He hated that JP was right. Cheeky prat was right about too many things. But was he right about this? "Did he . . . tell you?" Harry swallowed.

JP seemed to be considering what to say next. "Never had to," he finally sighed.

***

Harry crossed the football field in a daze. Did Draco care? Did Draco more than care? Did Draco _know_? Part of him wanted to discount everything JP said and assume he was messing with him, since that seemed to be a specialty of his. But that didn't fit. JP didn't strike him as someone who would lie outright, especially now that Harry had seen how much Felix mattered to him. Of course, there was also the possibility that he was just wrong. His "never had to" response was pretty vague, perhaps intentionally so.

"Bloody _hell_ ," he murmured to himself as he slammed his locker shut. Hermione would have known how to handle this. If she could get over the fact that he lied to all of them and now fancied Draco Malfoy. But yeah, after that, she would have had some brilliant advice. Ron, too, on a good day. And even if not, just being with them would have helped. What were they doing now? Were they happy? Something clenched in his heart and he wondered, not for the first time, if he would ever have a chance to find out.

"Harry?" Jo said sharply from behind him.

"Oh, hi, Jo," he said, staring at the floor. _She must hate me_.

"Felix was wondering if you have his script," she said coolly. "He can't find it."

Well at least Felix was communicating with Jo, Harry realized with relief. And now that he thought of it, he probably did have Felix's script. They had rehearsed together just the day before yesterday.

"Oh, yeah, gimme a sec." He rummaged through is rucksack and pulled it out. "Sorry."

Jo took it and rolled it neatly into the camouflage messenger bag at her hips.

"Jo, I really am sorry, about all of it."

She nodded.

"Does he hate me?" He asked, raising his eyes.

"Would you blame him?" She said steadily.

"No."

"Well, he probably does right now."

"Do you hate me?"

"A little," she admitted. "But to be honest, I think it was for the best."

"You do?"

"All things considered." She hooked her thumbs into her pockets and looked past him, swallowing hard. "I wish you could have figured it out sooner, but I suppose I have some of the blame for pushing you to date Felix. I just . . . wanted him to be happy." Her voice broke. "I love him, you know? And he's got such a stupid enormous heart."

"He does," Harry agreed, feeling his own throat tighten.

"He . . . I just hope you know how special he is. Even if you're hung up on--"

Harry cut her off. "I do know it. I just . . . couldn't do it. Maybe in another life," he mused.

"Too bad we only get one," Jo said, with something like pity. "I hope you know what you're doing with yours."

"So do I," said Harry, feeling the weight in his chest grow heavier. _So do I_.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Take care, Harry."

He tried to manage a smile but before he could thank her, she swept him into a tight hug. She smelled of something vaguely floral and he could feel the fluffy softness of her faded pink hair on his neck. He'd forgotten about girl hugs. He kind of missed them. Hermione's used to take him by surprise too. He could cry at the memory of it just now.

"Thanks, Jo."

"See you at the show, Harry."

Right, the show.

***

The energy backstage was palpable--dark and stuffy, hot and electric. Students laughed nervously, hiding in the wings and clutching the curtains with sweaty hands, squinting out into the lights to find a familiar face hidden in the crowd. And the crowd was sizeable. Faber must have done a good job advertising. Harry was just happy he was able to stay behind the stage instead of venturing onto it, as he was quite sure he would have been violently ill otherwise. He had butterflies even thinking of his friends--or whatever they were--up there.

Felix was probably pacing the floor somewhere while Jo gave him a pep talk. She never seemed nervous at least, a born actress if he'd ever met one. And JP and Draco were likely thick as thieves adjusting their fairy garb, or doing whatever it was they did whenever they were together. And here he was, alone with his pincushion and a quiet pair of girls on the props and make-up team. He checked the clock on the wall at the back of the auditorium.

Fifteen minutes to showtime.

JP's voice rang out from somewhere in the hall. "I will not have you molesting me on stage, _Malloy_." Harry's ears perked up. If JP wanted attention (and when didn't he), he had it. The girls beside Harry giggled. He wished they would shut up so he could hear the rest of the conversation.

" . . . pretty sure it was your _idea_ , actually," came Draco's voice. He could hear the smile in it, and felt his breath swoop deep into his lungs.

Since his conversation with JP, Harry had been even more obsessed with Draco, constantly analyzing everything that had happened between them and weighing every word, every touch, every look against what JP had said. He had broken up with Felix, _for Draco_ essentially, which seemed like something Draco should know, but how could he tell him?

Their voices drew nearer, much to Harry's relief and chagrin. "I only take orders from the king," JP responded. "So put your fucking crown on."

"It isn't the crown that makes the king," said Draco imperiously, with the trademark Malfoy sneer, "It's the--oh fuck, where is my crown? Accio--shit, never mind."

Harry glanced down at the end table between the girls. There it was, the stupid beautiful thing. It seemed all three of them had the same idea and reached for it at once. Harry thanked Merlin for his seeker abilities and snatched it with ease. The girls pouted and giggled some more. He sighed. He couldn't blame them.

Harry swept back the heavy curtain and found his way to the makeshift actors lounge, crown in hand. He wanted to give it to Draco alone, without JP around, but that would take some luck, especially as the minutes to showtime ticked by.

Ten minutes to showtime.

"Drake?" He called feebly into the group of students.

"Potter." Draco met his eyes from across the room.

He waved the crown in the air above him. _Like a bloody idiot. Maybe you should just put it on your head?_

Draco crossed the floor to meet him. Sweet _fuck_ , he was gorgeous as ever in that damn costume. _But you already told him that._ Leave it to Draco Malfoy to pull off wearing glitter in his hair.

"Thought I'd lost it. Should've known you'd have it. Thanks, Harry." Draco took the crown from his hands and set it on his head with a little frown. "Is it crooked?" He asked, looking up as if he could see it any better that way. _Sure. Be more adorable why don't you._

"A bit,"said Harry. (It was perfectly straight.) "May I?"

"Do your worst," Draco sighed, and took a knee in front of Harry, who gulped immediately (and audibly, he was quite sure). The room was quickly emptying out as actors went to find their places, leaving the two of them in the corner, more or less alone.

"Erm, right," Harry stammered. _I am a fucking masochist._ As he adjusted the perfectly straight crown, two fingers accidentally grazed Draco's outer ear, which was impossibly soft. Had he never felt anyone's ear before? Who has sexy ears? He allowed his fingers to follow the invisible line from Draco's hairline to his jaw, knowing he had no excuse to do so but unable to summon the restraint to stop.

Draco shivered and turned his head. "Tickles," he said, with a half smile that made Harry feel weak all over. 

"You're in quite a mood," Harry observed, finding his voice again and hoping it sounded light and casual.

"Jitters I suppose," Draco said, getting up. "Did you ever, in all your young years, think that I would be performing in a muggle threatre production?" He asked. "It's like something out of a fucked up dream."

"Just so long as nobody's naked," Harry quipped. _Oh good gods. Stop. Talking._

Draco shot him a funny look and cleared his throat. "So . . . Is Felix ready? He's got quite a big role too, doesn't he?" He had resumed his more formal manner.

"No. I mean yes," Harry fumbled about for what he meant to say. "I mean, I'm sure he's ready. But I haven't talked to him in a while. We're . . . not together anymore."

"Oh." A few seconds passed. Then a few more. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," Harry said without thinking. It was true. He _was_ sorry about Felix. But not in the way Draco might have thought he meant. "Anyway," he said, looking anywhere but at the boy in front of him, "you better find your place."

Just as Draco turned to leave, Harry reached out and touched his arm. He looked back at Harry in surprise and Harry once again found himself at a loss for words. _Say something, for the love of Merlin, say anything_. "I--I--erm . . . " Draco raised his chin as if to say _Yes_? "Nevermind," Harry said hastily. "Just--have a good show I guess."

Draco exhaled slowly. "Thanks. You . . . too."

Five minutes to showtime.


	30. Never Betray The Way You've Always Known It Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I'm not going to make it eeeasy for him.

The lights blinked on and off and a hush fell over the crowd. "Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming out to support our Senior Drama and English Lit classes as they present one of Shakespeare's most beloved plays, _A Midsummer Night's Dream._ " Faber had forsaken tweed for the evening looked quite dashing in a charcoal grey trousers and vest ensemble. "Sit back and enjoy an evening of magic, scheming, humour, and love." He stepped down from the stage and the curtains pulled back behind him to reveal Theseus and Helena in a small courtyard with a painted palace backdrop.

Showtime.

Harry lingered at the back of the auditorium. He was only needed between scenes, and even then it was only in case someone had mislaid something. He found he quite enjoyed watching the show from the audience. Some scenes more than others of course. Alright, mostly the scenes with Draco. Last year he would have said that Draco as Oberon was a classic typecast--a petty, entitled, arrogant man who would stop at nothing to have things work out in his favour, even while revelling in the humiliation of others. That would have described Draco to a _T_ in his book. But the Draco he knew now was quite the opposite of Shakespeare's Fairy King. Well, almost. His regal bearing, posture and annunciation were still a natural fit.

The other natural fit was the playful chemistry between Draco and JP as Oberon and Puck. It was like watching a dance. JP's energy was a perfect match for Draco's authoritative air, and their timing was perfect. Faber knew what he was doing when he cast them, and Harry couldn't quite name the feelings he had about it. They weren't together--at least he didn't _think_ they were. Wouldn't Draco have mentioned it? Or JP? But they were in some sort of relationship. Objectively, Harry would say it seemed to do Draco good. He seemed happy when he was with JP. But subjectively, as one who wanted to be the one to make Draco smile like that, it left him just a little rankled.

Draco was nearing the end of one of his more lengthly soliloquies, and JP was chiming in here and there. The pair had a mischievous glint in their eyes that Harry hadn't noticed at rehearsals, like some sort of inside joke they could barely contain.

Draco as Oberon rhapsodized on the the properties of the "love in idleness" flower he was instructing JP as Puck to obtain for him. JP nodded eagerly while circling Draco.

"Fetch me this herb, and be thou here again, Ere the Leviation can swim a league," Draco said archly, lifting his chin and extending his hand.

JP took his hand and bowed quickly, then met his eyes. "I'll put a girdle round about the earthy in forty minutes," he said with a wicked smile, but instead of dashing offstage as he normally did, he stepped towards Draco, who didn't hesitate to drop his extended arm to JP's waist, dip him halfway to the floor and pull him into a deep kiss.

 _That_ had definitely not happened at rehearsal.

Harry blinked and wondered if he'd really seen it. It seemed the rest of the audience was wondering the same thing. There had been a collective gasp--scandalized or appreciative or a mix of both--and then a return to silence as JP bounded off the stage and Draco went on as if it had been written in the script all along. A few members of the audience turned their heads towards Faber as if to ask, "Was that supposed to happen?" Harry couldn't see the man's expression from where he stood but he thought he saw him shake his head.

It hadn't been a long kiss, though it was dramatic. It hadn't been passionate per se, but, Harry realized, it betrayed just the sort of fond possessiveness that the Oberon and Puck dynamic hinted at throughout the play. It wasn't entirely out of place. And in comparison with the kisses actually written in, it could even be considered the most chaste. But it had between between two boys, and that was likely the cause of the commotion. When the act ended and it was time for intermission, a flurry of whispers swept through the darkened room.

Harry made his way backstage (to check on everything, he told himself) where the whispers were hardly whispers at all.

"Did you see that?"

"Oh my god!"

"Are they dating?"

Harry felt ire rise within him. Just because Draco had kissed JP on stage did not mean they were dating. Was anyone asking that about the other couples who kissed on stage? _But they did kiss on stage of their own accord, and not because they had to._ Best not to dwell on that. He shoved past someone in the wings and accidentally stepped on their toe. "Sorry I--" he stopped when he saw it was Felix. "Oh."

Felix stared back at him, his mouth in a grim line. Harry missed his smile and wished, again, that they could just talk.

"That was something, wasn't it?" He tried.

"Yeah." Felix said, knitting his brow. "Typical JP," he sighed. "Always the shit disturber." Harry was surprised to a detect a note of affection in his voice.

"You know him pretty well, don't you?"

"I did once," Felix admitted, half to himself.

"Hm," said Harry awkwardly. "Anyway, good job so far. It's going really well."

His eyes brightened. "You think so?" Still the same earnest Felix.

"Yeah, it's brilliant," said Harry, meaning it. It was quite impressive what a group of mediocre students had been able to pull off, and Felix was no exception.

"Thanks." Felix plucked absentmindedly at one of his puffy sleeves, but there was a small smile there.

"Well, erm, I best--"

"Yeah, me too."

Harry nodded and headed for the props table. He looked back over his shoulder at Felix and saw the boy's gaze was now focused somewhere else entirely, eyes falling to where JP and Draco sat on a bench, taking swigs from the same bottle of water, chatting and laughing together. If he didn't know better, he might've thought Felix was experiencing some of the same feelings as he was about that. But before he could think much more about it, something else caught his attention.

"This school is full of homos. It's disgusting. Fucking fairies." The hair stood up on the back of Harry's neck. It was Dylan, and he was speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear. The dickhead should have been expelled after his attack on Felix, but had been let off with a suspension and a warning. He was on stage crew, and Harry had been careful to avoid him. Until now.

Merlin, he wanted to hex his balls off--not possible just now, unfortunately. He would settle for kicking him, though starting a fight would likely put a damper on this night and leave him with a couple broken bones. Still, he couldn't let him say that shit with no repercussions.

"Hey Dylan," Harry called out, sounding braver than he felt and capturing the eyes of everyone in the room. "Maybe you should stop spewing your bullshit and get over the fact that everyone in this school is getting off more than you ever will."

There was a moment of stunned silence until the room burst into applause. Dylan shot Harry a murderous glance before stalking out the backstage door. JP rose to his feet. "And stay the fuck out," he called after him, with campy theatrical flourish. He and Draco made their way over to Harry.

"Huh. So you are useful at times," JP said, appraising Harry grudgingly.

"You've no idea," Draco said, throwing Harry a wink.

"Not like I saved the world or anything," Harry said, returning Draco's conspiratorial glance. He was rewarded with snort and a roll of the eyes.

JP touched Draco on the shoulder and cocked his head to the refreshments table in the corner before heading in that direction. It was the kind of casual, wordless interaction common between friends . . . or more-than-friends. Either way, it made envy stir inside him, but he pushed it down. At least he had Draco to himself again for a moment.

"I always did appreciate your sass, Potter," Draco smirked.

Harry's stomach tipped. "Even when it was directed at you?" he ventured.

"Especially then," Draco said drily, and suddenly both boys palmed the back of their necks and looked anywhere but at each other.

"Fucking hate that Dylan guy," Harry muttered, watching the door in case came back.

"Do tell us how you really feel," Draco remarked with a smile.

"Alright," Harry said, eager to keep his attention. "Let's see. If I had Dylan, Umbridge, and Voldemort in a room, and only two hexes to throw, I'd hex Dylan twice."

Draco threw his head back and laughed, exposing his glittering pale neck and causing Harry's throat to go very dry. He'd like to take that laugh and bottle it. "Didn't see that coming from the Chosen One."

And for once, Harry didn't mind the nickname. Maybe because it was one of the things in this strange new reality that only the two of them understood.

"Places, everyone! Intermission over in five!" Miss Austen's voice was shrill and menacing at once.

JP returned with another water bottle in hand and half a chocolate donut in mouth. He practically swallowed it whole and hooked his elbow in Draco's. "C'mon your highness, we have havoc to wreak on the mortals."

"Duty calls," Draco shrugged and allowed JP to lead him to the wings on the other side of the stage.

Harry watched them go, flicked through a few costumes on the rack in front of him, and tried very hard not to think about what Draco and JP might be whispering about, or how close they might be standing in the dark.


	31. Where I'm Going To

The cast party was in full swing in the gymnasium. The rest of the play had gone off without a hitch and, despite a few raised eyebrows, the audience seemed to have enjoyed themselves. Now parents and students alike drank watered down punch and ate crumbling grocery store cookies. Harry slouched in one of the folding chairs studying the program while keeping Draco in his peripheral vision. He and JP were inseparable once again, riding the high of a successful performance. Draco was practically glowing, damn him.

The Meltons were making nice with Faber and discussing the finer points of the play just a few chairs down from Harry. He sipped his punch and gave up trying to look busy. He'd already given his cursory but heartfelt congratulations to Felix and Jo. There was nothing stopping him from giving them to Draco and JP too. Nothing but the legs beneath him heavy as tree trunks and his lungs threatening to give out. But he was fine. Totally fine.

"Well, Harry, it's getting late. Let's go before we turn into pumpkins, eh?" Chris cuffed his shoulder. Ah, dad jokes. He was getting used to those. But he couldn't leave yet. He had to at least . . . whatever. Shake Draco's hand or something. Because the play was over and everything was over and after tonight he would be stuck here in this muggle high school with no plans and no friends and then he would have to admit that this was an irreversible mistake that would make him lonely for the rest of his life. Not that he was being melodramatic or anything. But, fuck. This night simply could not end like this.

"Erm, Drake said he'd give me a ride," he said quickly.

Chris nodded. "Alright, but don't expect sympathy in the morning. Teenagers need their sleep, you know. I used to be one once. I think." He winked. Harry gave him a tight smile and finally stood up. Which was really no better than sitting down unless he could force his legs to move forward. Luckily, Draco did half of the work for him.

"So, we pulled it off, eh Harry? Maybe now Faber will go easy on us and let us half arse essays and pretend to read novels. I've had enough of Shakespeare. D'you think he might have been a wizard? JP says some people don't even believe he wrote half of his works."

 _JP says. Well, well. If JP says_ . . . And speaking of, he was next to Draco again, arm slung around his waist. Harry had to work very hard not to focus on the black painted nails resting on Draco's jutting hip. Why had he thought it a good idea to give Draco such a form fitting costume again? Or JP for that matter.

"So Potter," JP's eyes twinkled. "How's your drink?" He winked.

Harry shrugged, never sure how to take JP. Was that supposed to be some sort of innuendo?

"Yes," JP continued, as if Harry had actually said something. "About as dry as this party, I would say, right Draco?"

Draco smiled and rolled his eyes a little. "It's fine."

"Sure, fine, yeah, but a little too PCP for my taste."

"A little what?" Harry asked. Draco looked confused as well.

JP drained a paper cup, crushed it in his fist, and tossed it into a trash can halfway across the room. "Pop, Chips, and Parents. You know? I mean, it's cute and everything . . . But if you really want to party, you should come to my place. A bunch of us are going in a bit. You could invite Jo . . . And Felix if you want." His voice lost its swagger as soon as he spoke Felix's name, which made room for just a little bit of sympathy in Harry's heart.

"But won't your parents--"

Draco shook his head slightly at Harry and threw him a meaningful look, but JP caught on and tightened his grip. Harry's own fists tightened reflexively. "Not to worry old chap," JP said in a grating phoney accent. "My parents are--as they say--out of town. Perpetually."

Harry looked to Draco again but he was busy casting a sympathetic glance at JP. Harry's fingers twitched. Whatever was between those two, he had not expected to find any sort of tenderness. It was plain to see, however, that something like that existed. And there was no denying it made Harry jealous--yes, jealous, he could admit that--in a way that seeing them kiss and joke around together had not. That had bothered him too, of course, but he could tell himself it didn't mean anything, that it was part of an act, Shakespearean or otherwise. There was no acting here. Draco cared about JP. And it shouldn't have mattered to Harry. Shouldn't have, but it did.

If Draco was going to the party, Harry would be going as well. That went without saying anyway, since whether Draco knew it or not, he was Harry's ride home.

"Are you going?" He asked Draco. "Don't you have a curfew?"

Draco smirked. "Technically, but the Mrs. thinks I'm working on a project at JP's tonight."

Harry was taken aback. "What do you mean? She's not here? No one came to see you perform?" He knew that Draco wasn't exactly cozy with his foster family but he thought someone in that house would have made an effort. It sounded like Draco hadn't even told them.

"Of course not, Potter," Draco drawled. "There are at least ten other children in that house. She's not going to go out of her way to see teenagers murder the Bard." _The Bard?_ "I didn't bother telling her. Besides, I've practically got my own room at JP's now."

Huh. Imagine that. Harry's throat tightened. That would make a ride home difficult to obtain. "Oh," was all he could manage. Then, "Alright, I'll come."

"Yeah?" JP looked suddenly hopeful. "And you think you might . . . invite anyone?"

"Sure, I'll invite my ex-boyfriend and my ex-friend," Harry said drily. "Since you don't seem to have to balls to do it."

The insult slid off JP like water; he just stood there beaming before saying, "Well, what are we waiting for, precious?" Draco wouldn't meet his eye. Okay, then. He would have to do it. Nothing like having your bluff called by a sparkly fairy with an "up yours" attitude.

Harry turned and scanned the room for Felix again. He saw him chatting with a boy named Josh, who had played Demetrius. Perfect. It would appear much more casual if he could invite them both. He plucked up his courage and made his way over.

"Hey again," he said. Felix looked up. Josh took a step back and smiled politely. "Erm, JP's having a party at his place. Everyone's invited. Just wanted to let you guys know."

"Thanks," said Josh. "Sounds pretty cool. I hear his parents are never home, lucky bastard."

"Yeah," Felix said, eyes suddenly on the floor. "That's usually the case."

"Then I'm there!" Josh grinned. "How bout you, man?"

"I'll think about it," Felix said quietly. "You going then, Harry?"

"It would appear," Harry sighed. "I mean, Drake's sort of my ride home so . . ." _And I'd also like to keep an eye on him and JP_ , he added silently.

Felix doesn't respond.

"Well, anyway, hope to see you there," he finished lamely and practically ran back to where JP and Draco were standing. Still too fucking close together.

JP raised his eyebrows. "And?"

"Done. Can we go now?" Harry huffed.

"Um, excuse you, _we_?" JP laughed.

"Oh, erm, I kind of told the Meltons that Draco was my ride," he mumbled.

"And why would you do a thing like that?" Draco asked, his voice slightly unsteady.

Harry fought to keep his temper from getting the better of him. It was always the worst when he was embarrassed. "Never mind. I'll find a ride somewhere else."

Draco's eyes widened. "No! Don't be a prat. I was just taking the piss. Can't promise you a ride home. We're walking. But we'll figure it out at the party." Draco took a step closer and lowered his voice. "Come on. I hear muggle drinking games are all the rage."

Oh, fuck, the last thing he wanted to do was have Draco see him drunk. Who knew what would come bubbling up to the surface then. But it didn't matter what Draco had just said because he was close and Harry could smell his hair and feel his breath and all he could do was nod. He didn't have a proper excuse anymore anyway. Besides, he could be careful.

"Drinking games?" JP repeated primly. "Oh my heavens, not at my house." He clutched at imaginary pearls and then said under his breath, "it will be much more interesting than that."

Draco and Harry exchanged glances. Perhaps neither of them knew what they were in for.

  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeey yooooou guuuuys.  
> Apologies or the radio silence. I hope to get back to semi-regular updates on this weird little self-indulgent beast.  
> Next up: 90's house party because how could I not? I've been listening to my old Weezer album on repeat. I think "Undone" will do nicely for the next chapter ;D


	32. Watch Me Unravel

The walk to JP's house had been awkward. He'd never felt more like a third wheel, and he'd spent an entire year on the run with his best friends who were mad about each other. This was different, though. He'd never had any romantic interest in Ron or Hermione, so he wasn't jealous when things inevitably progressed between those two. With them he had just been . . . wistful. But Draco and JP? What even _was_ this? From the way they interacted, it sounded like they spent every waking moment together. And just how did JP know so much about magic with Draco having broken the statute of secrecy? It didn't make sense. And, alright, so they kissed on stage. So what? What did it mean, anyway? JP had practically bitten his head off when Harry talked with him about Felix, so there was obviously something there. Not that Harry thought he was the only person who could be interested in two people at once but . . .

But now, here he was, by himself, _again_ , watching guests spill in through the door of JP's stupidly large house and hiding his face behind a large glass of vodka and cranberry juice, which Draco had shoved into his hand before he left for the kitchen. With JP. Harry could only stare after him, following the way his hair hung limp from the sheen of sweat on his forehead, noting how his eyeliner was smudged in an altogether perfectly imperfect way, and that the deep V of his T-shirt showed off far too much of his collarbone, which still had fairy glitter all over it. How did he get here again?

"Yes! Weezer RULES!" Josh had arrived with Felix, and had somehow found the stereo within thirty seconds of entering the room. He turned the knob, cranking the volume to somewhere between obnoxious and ear-splitting. A girl on the chair beside Harry's perked up. "Aaaah! The Sweater Song!" She jumped to her feet and dragged another girl with her. "We are _so_ dancing to this!"

Then everyone in the room was dancing. Although, calling it dancing was a stretch. It was more like . . . enthusiastic singing. Very enthusiastic. Honest-to-Merlin belting out lyrics while jumping around, playing invisible instruments, and maybe swaying a bit. And head thrashing? Was that what they were doing? Even Felix was into it, though he was a little more subdued, a hesitant smile stretching over his face.

Dozens of voices chanted in unison: "If you WANT! To destrooooy my sweateeeeeeer! Whoa-ooo whoa-ooo--OH." Okay. Harry was half muggle himself but it did not stop him from thinking, "Muggle teenagers are fucking weird." And yet, it was admirable the way they just came together and let go like that, finding something they all loved and not giving a fuck. He envied them. Had he ever felt like that? It had been so long.

Harry glanced down at the drink in his hand, the one he'd been nursing with the tiniest of sips, too afraid of what he might do or say if it affected him even a little bit. Maybe it was time to stop all this coward bullshit? Yes, he deserved a respite after the war, but he shouldn't have run. There was no changing that now, though. No changing that, but maybe he could change something else. He still had no fucking clue how Draco ended up in this runaway life, but he was here, and Harry wanted him, and now was as good a time to tell him as any. Wasn't it?

The floor shook and the windows rattled as the group around him grew in number and volume. "Lying on the floor! Lying on the flo-oor! I've cooooooome undoooooooone!" Harry downed his drink in two gulps and nodded appreciatively to himself. He'd expected more of a burn but it went down smooth. Time for another, perhaps? Now that the room was full to the walls with thumping bodies, he was the one who looked stupid, sitting in an armchair like a chaperone or something. Yeah, time for another drink.

_____

Draco sat on a bar stool, legs apart and elbows on the counter, chuckling to himself while JP lounged on the counter top beside him, drinking in the attention lavished upon him as he told a story to the small crowd gathered there.

"So then, my dad sits down, and--he says it smells good, right?-- and he takes a huge fucking spoonful, not knowing that we replaced the broth with--" JP paused when Harry darkened the doorway. "Potter. I see you've left the revelry for the finer things at this party." He gave a sly nod to Draco, who guffawed.

"Finer things? You were regaling us with the story of how you pissed in your father's soup."

"Yes, but you're forgetting it was really fancy, gourmet soup. And I am a master regaler."

Harry looked between JP and Draco, just a few inches between them, and cleared his throat. "Was just looking for a refill, actually."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "How'd you like the vodka and cranberry?"

"Okay, I guess. Pretty good, actually."

"Laaaame, you mean," JP smirked and leaned back toward the cupboard to get another glass. "I saw you mix that drink, Drake. I thought you were making it for your five-year-old housemate. What was it, ten parts fruit juice to one part vodka? I mean, come on. He's not going to loosen up on that."

 _Loosen up. Who says I need loosening_? Harry frowned.

"Well, I wanted to be easier on him than you were on me," Draco said with a lopsided grin.

"Oh? You don't want him puking his guts out and proclaiming his lo--" but JP was suddenly rendered silent. Harry saw Draco's hand clenched on his wand, surreptitiously under the lip of the counter, and the flash of surprise on JP's face before he recovered. "Easy, soldier, all I was going to _say_ was how you waxed poetic on the merits of sugary breakfast cereal." But Draco's face remained guarded. 

JP was not deterred. "Anyway. Mixed drinks are for Girl Scouts. Let's make this interesting."

"Listen to this kid!" Josh boomed from behind Harry and slapped his palm on the wall. "I'm down for pure shots." He elbowed his way to the counter. Harry took the opportunity to follow him into the room and claim a seat at the dining table. It was a safe distance from the makeshift bar on the counter.

"Knew I could count on you, Joshie. You always were my favourite jock." JP gave him an exaggerated wink and double guns. Josh sent them right back. Yep. Muggles. Weird.  JP lined up shot glasses along the edge and made his way to the liquor cabinet."Who else is in? Drake? Harry?"

"I'm sitting this one out," Draco said with quiet amusement, "And if Potter knows what's good for him, he'll do the same."

Harry bristled. "Potter can decide for himself, thanks. I can handle a few rounds." Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Draco swivelled the stool to face Harry dead on. The angle was working for him. "A few _rounds_? Can you, now? Should be interesting. But forgive me for saying you don't look eager. If you're up for it, why are you sitting all the way over there?" Harry didn't have an answer for that, exactly.

The kitchen was filling up now. Those tired of dancing needed refreshment and a change of scenery. Apparently there was such a thing as too much air guitar. A few girls took to the challenge presented and plunked themselves down on the remaining stools. The only one left was, of course, the one on the other side of the bar, directly across from Draco. Felix had found his way to the kitchen as well.  "He may not be from around here," he said casually, "but I'm pretty sure Harry knows you can drink at a table just as well as a bar."

JP's head snapped up from scrutinizing a large bottle of rum. "Felix?" The room went quiet, or at least, as quiet as a room can go when the room next to it is pumping out punk rock. JP's cheeks were suddenly flushed and the party host bravado in his manner nearly extinguished. It was like seeing a mask fall from his face. Harry couldn't help but empathize with him in that moment. And then, as quickly as it had fallen, it was back on. "Felix! Long time no see. Don't suppose I could interest you . . ."

"Nah, man," Felix shook his head. "Curfew, you know." A look passed between them.

"Of course," JP said quickly. "There's some Orange Crush in the fridge behind you."

Felix opened his mouth but appeared to think better of it. He just turned around, swung open the door and took out an orange can. After popping it open, he raised it. "Cheers."

JP lifted the heavy bottle to the air in an awkward salute. "Yeah, cheers."

Harry and Draco caught each other's eyes and quickly looked away. Each wondered what the other knew about that situation, but now was not the time to figure it out. Harry pushed out his chair.

"Fine, I can sit at the bloody counter, if it's so important to you."

"It is of dire importance, Potter," JP deadpanned, as he filled each glass to the brim.

______

"Seven minutes, you two," Reah, a girl from Harry's history class, chimed as the closet door clicked behind him and Draco.

"Did you know this stupid game was what JP had planned?" He asked, feeling light-headed. It had only been two drinks. Or three? Either way, sober Harry would probably not have agreed to play something called "Seven Minutes in Heaven," whether he had known what it was or not. He hadn't really been paying attention when the empty bottle came to a stop pointing at him, but when he was instructed to spin it and it landed on Draco, it was too late to back out.

"Lumos," Draco whispered in the dark, and the coat closet filled with soft blue light. His lips turned up into a soft smile. "I don't think even JP knows what JP has planned. He just sort of goes with it, you know? It's refreshing."

Harry snorted. "That's one word for it."

"He's actually a pretty decent guy," Draco frowned. "He's been a good friend."

"You two do seem friendly," Harry muttered.

"Because we're _friends_ , Potter. In what world does someone like me have to explain something like that to you?"

Harry stared at the ground. Everything was a bit wobbly, but he was not drunk. Tipsy, maybe. "So why'd you kiss him then?" He asked casually.

Draco shrugged and grinned. "Anything for the theatre."

"So that was the first time, on stage?" Harry pressed. Nope, sober Harry would not be doing this. Sober Harry needed to find his balls, come to think of it.

"No . . ." Draco's lowered his voice and his lashes and fuck--was he doing that on purpose? He leaned against the wall with one knee up, channeling a fashion model as always. "We had to practise, after all . . . " Harry tried to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach. Was it the alcohol or the idea of Draco and JP getting that on stage kiss just right? How many tries had it taken? Draco continued, "Besides, you know what that's like . . . I was practise for you, right?" His voice was different now. Was it bitterness creeping in or was Harry imagining it? "For you and . . ."

"Felix, "Harry finished. _And you weren't. That was the whole fucking problem._ His stomach roiled. That was definitely the alcohol. He groaned. "Ugh. I feel like shit all of a sudden."

"Shocking," Draco drawled. "Three shots will do that to a lightweight."

"It was three, wasn't it? But I was fine just a few minutes ago. Fuuuuck." He held his gut.

"I know. Muggle alcohol is not like potions or even wizard alcohol. You don't feel it right away. That's what makes doing shots so easy. And so very stupid. Can't say I didn't warn you," he sighed. "But you're Harry Potter, so what are three shots in the grand scheme of things, right?"

Harry came to the dreadful realization that the shots in his belly were not going to stay there. "We have to get out of here," he said pitifully. "I'm going to . . ."

Draco's eyes widened as he hastily transfigured a rain boot into a bucket, which Harry wasted no time vomiting into. He looked up in horror. "Oh, gods . . ."

"I'll say one thing," Draco wrinkled his nose. "You have impeccable aim."

Harry heaved again and sat up straight. "I feel surprisingly better. I think." He tried to stand up and lost his footing. "Okay, not that much better. How many more minutes?"

"It's been fifteen at least," Draco said, matter-of-fact. "I'm certain they've forgotten about us."

"Bloody hell, why didn't you say something?"

"I had a feeling you'd rather vomit in a closet than all over JP's carpet. Don't ask me how I know. And you would be too stubborn to admit you weren't feeling well if anyone else was around."

Harry hated to admit it, but Draco was probably right. And if he took stock of the situation, it was unlikely he would have Draco to himself anytime again soon. So perhaps, vomit bucket aside . . . If this was his only chance . . .

"But now, we should probably go. Even the Savior doesn't regurgitate roses." Draco reached for the door handle.

Harry flung his arm out to stop him.

"Wait."

 


	33. I've Come Undone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek I've hit the 50k mark! Thanks so much for bearing with me this far! I think we deserve a little something special, don't you? ;)

_For what?_ Draco wanted to say, but didn't. He swatted the arm away and sunk back to the floor. "Potter," he sighed dramatically. "You're in a state. I think you could do with some fresh air. Or I could, at the very least."

"No."

He heard the door handle click back to the locking position.

"Good grief. No need to show off," he rolled his eyes.

He saw Harry draw his knees to his chest and rest his forehead there.

"Sorry," came the muffled response. "It was an accident."

"Are you joking? I thought you had that under control?"

"Nobody's perfect," Harry mumbled to the floor. "As you said, I'm not exactly in top form. Could you stay a few more minutes? I'm sure JP's doing just fine." He couldn't quite place the tone in Potter's voice, but he didn't like it.

"Never said he wasn't."

"Then why the hurry?"

For fuck's _sake_.

Draco knocked his head back against the wall.

"Are you _serious_? This your idea of a pleasant evening? Would you stay if the situation were reversed?" How dare Potter try to guilt him into nursing him back to sobriety when he was supposed to be celebrating. It would be different if that wasn't all he wanted but . . .

Harry's head moved up so his chin was resting on his knees now. "Yes," he answered, eyes flashing.

 _Bollocks_.

"All bloody right," Draco huffed. "But I'm no good at vanishing spells, so could you take care of . . . that?"

Harry flicked his wrist without so much as a glance towards the bucket and it disappeared. Impressive. So typically Potter. Start the year off leaking magic and nail wandless spells six weeks later.

But what happened next was even more suprising.  Harry rose slightly, to his knees, and grabbed Draco's hand.

What?

Draco's eyes flitted to their hands and then back at Harry. Harry held the look, then tugged, pulling Draco closer to him. They were both on their knees now, facing each other, inches apart.

Fucking _what_?

"Potter, what are you--"

Then Harry's hands were on his hips, and Draco leaned in without thinking, cursing to himself. They were too close now. He could feel the heat in the air between them, could smell the mixture of alcohol and sweat and something distinctly Harry, strong and magnetic. He had to move, to speak, to break whatever spell this was because Mother of Merlin, he knew better.  He'd never been more than a distraction to the Chosen One, even here, when they might've been friends. (When they actually _were_ friends? Fuck if he ever really knew.)

The hand clutching his wand betrayed him just then, letting go, causing the light of the lumos spell to bounce and flicker out. It was no use. He couldn't pretend he didn't want this.

And then, as if the loss of light and clattering of the wand on the tiled floor were a sign of some sort of cosmic consent, he seized Potter's jaw with both hands and kissed him, hard, eliciting a muffled moan.

Harry responded immediately, arms encircling him and mouth working, his tongue finding Draco's, his hands pulling him even closer. Draco noted, distractedly, that perhaps the Savior did indeed regurgitate roses or some other nonsense, because despite what happened earlier in this same closet, Potter tasted fucking _good_.

But this was not a _good_ idea. This was downright idiotic. This was . . . well, it was . . . he could hardly beathe . . . but that was not the point. What was the point again?

And now . . . fucking hell, Potter broke away from him, only to press his lips to Draco's collarbone, which no one had ever done before, which he had never even _thought_ about before, but which felt more intimate than anything he'd done with anyone else.  The warmth of that open mouth on his throat . . . like Draco was everything and Potter--Harry--was claiming him, making him forget anything else existed. There was only here, only this, only Harry's disastrous mop of hair tickling his nose and the urgency of Harry's hands on his shoulders, slowly easing them down to the floor while he continued to kiss and chin Draco's chest.

The tile was cold and hard on his spine. Draco arched his back into Harry's warmth, melting into Harry's fingers, which were making quick work of untucking Draco's shirt. He couldn't help pushing against him while Harry palmed his bare chest and abdomen. Their lips met again and again. Their bodies moved together in a familiar rhythm. Too familiar.

"I was wondering . . ." Harry said suddenly, his voice thick.

Merlin, did he always have to interrupt a good thing?

They both stopped moving.

"I was wondering," he repeated, brushing his fingers across Draco's bare hip, "I mean . . ."

Draco froze. Was he asking . . . was he saying . . . he couldn't even see his face; the only light was the thin beam coming in from under the door. It didn't matter anyway. "Yes," was the only word his mouth could form, whatever the question was.

"You don't . . . even know what I was going to say," Harry said, his breathing uneven and his words stilted.

"Complete sentences would help," Draco couldn't resist replying. He squirmed a bit, feeling awkward now that they'd stopped kissing and starting talking. It was easier when there were no words getting in the way.

Harry rolled to his side and sat up, resting his weight on his palms behind him.

"Right. What I'm trying to say is . . . er, you're not with JP, are you?"

Draco wanted to be sure of what this question meant, but he wasn't, so he was cautious. "Would it matter if I was?" He asked, straightening up himself.

"Well, yes," Harry snapped. "I'm not the sort of person who . . . nevermind."

"Oh, but you assume I am?" Of course. "Of course, it's one thing for me, but the Chosen One would never dream of kissing someone else when he had a boyfriend, would he?"

"That was different."

" _Was_ it?"

"Well, it was your idea, to start with."

Draco closed his eyes just for moment, internalizing the pain before sneering, "and I really had to talk you into it, didn't I?"

"No," Harry said quietly, but Draco hardly registered it.

"But what does it matter? I should be thanking my lucky fucking stars that the Saviour would even touch someone like me, even for practice, is that it?"

"Draco--what the hell? I never said anything like that!"

Draco knew at the back of his mind that he was ruining this. They both were, like they always managed to do. And no, he wasn't being quite fair, but was it so terrible to say everything he'd been thinking? Had Harry always been fair?

"And is it so hard to believe," he said coldly, "that someone else might want to be with me, might like spending time with me?"

"Fuck it, Draco, I don't know where this went wrong but I am trying to tell you something!"

"Yeah, that I'm good for helping you pretend that any of this means anything," Draco choked, "or maybe for helping you pretend that it doesn't."

He reached for the door once more, and managed to open it this time. Squinting at the light, he was relieved to find no one waiting in the hallway outside. The crowd in the next room had dwindled but the music was still playing and people were still dancing and laughing--those who weren't passed out, that is. Merlin, where the hell was JP? Reputation or not, he should at least be monitoring what was happening in his own home. Felix was also notably absent.

"Looking for your boyfriend?" Harry said from behind him.

"Looking for yours, actually," Draco sniped.

"I already told you, we're not--"

"Shut your mouth, for once, Potter. You need to get home, yes?"

Harry looked taken aback. "Yes. But that's not your problem." 

"Except for when you made it mine. Come on." He swung a jacket over his shoulders without checking whether or not it was his, left the house, and started walking. Harry had to scramble to keep up behind him.

"Do you even know where I live, you stubborn git?"

Draco felt heat bloom in his cheeks and stopped walking. He did know, although he'd never been there. He had just made it a priority to know. Harry was his mission, after all.

"I was sure you would tell me, Potter," he recovered. "Once you remembered which shoe goes on which foot, that is. This way, is it?"

"Well, yes, but--Look, I'm not going home without saying something," Harry stood under a street lamp, fists clenched, eyes desperate.

"Then say it," Draco turned his back, quickening his pace. Potter could say whatever he wanted to say to the whole bloody neighbourhood. He wasn't waiting around for it.

"Draco, I wasn't pretending," Harry called out. Draco stopped, but didn't turn. "Not . . . not ever. Not even when I should have been."

"Not . . .?" Draco croaked and let out a shaky breath. "Not . . ."

Harry stepped forward, closing the space between them again, and clutched Draco's arm. "Not for one fucking second," he said fiercely, forcing Draco to look at him. "It's been you. This whole time." He kissed him again, with an intensity Draco didn't know was possible. The sheer power of it nearly wrecked him. The streetlight glass shattered above them, but the bulb continued to burn bright. He pulled away to see Harry's earnest face staring back at him, waiting for a response.

"You really should get control of yourself," was all Draco could think to say, nodding to the shards of glass on the sidewalk.

Then Harry smiled. "Trust me, I am completely in control." 

 


End file.
